Sick Rose
by ZeldaK
Summary: She suspected she was sick. He picked up on it. My take on Dr Harleen Quinzel's slow descent into madness.
1. Ten Minutes

_O Rose, thou art sick._

 _The invisible worm,_

 _That flies in the night,_

 _In the howling storm,_

 _Has found out thy bed_

 _Of crimson joy;_

 _And his dark secret love_

 _Does thy life destroy._

 _-WILLIAM BLAKE_

 _Ten minutes._

She kept glancing nervously at the bright red clock. Ten minutes, and she will be finally meeting one of _them_. Picking up a pencil she discarded only a moment ago, the young blonde focused her stare on the paper in front of her. It was supposed to contain all the questions she planned to pose to her newest patient. Her soon to be _favourite_ patient, she was sure of that. However, the only coherent words she could make out in the sea of scribbles and scratched out sentences were the ominous sounding 'THE ELIZABETH ARKHAM ASYLUM FOR THE CRIMINALLY INSANE'. Despite the situation, she could feel the corners of her lips pulling up into a small smile. Reading the blue water mark that sat on the top of every page in her notebook never failed to boost her self-confidence. She made it. She was _there_. A place she always wanted to be at, a place where she would make big things happen.

Her momentary feeling of victory faded as soon as it came, though. She ran a hand through the stray hair framing her paled face with a sigh. _It was useless_. She dared herself to look at the clock that mocked her from its place on the iron file cabinet opposite her desk.

 _Seven minutes._

She needed to concentrate. She needed to _calm down_. The expensive, retro style glasses she got herself as a reward for getting the internship at the facility landed on her notebook with a dull thud. She stood up abruptly and walked toward the small sink in the far corner of her office. She turned the tab and splashed some cold water on her face. She hadn't realized she was shaking, not until she glanced at her quivering hands clutching the rim of the metal basin. It shined silver. Like his smile.

Breathing in heavily through her nose, she shut her eyes close. She could hear the stories about individuals like him. All the professors' lectures, warnings from the experts she listened to in awe during her college years; their voices kept mixing and replaying in her head like some eerie tune from a broken gramophone. Glibness of charm. Calculating. Callous. _Lethal._ She found herself mentally repeating the Hare's Checklist. It fit _him_ perfectly. _Oh, it did._

"Remember, they may act interested. They may act like they are listening to what you're saying, contemplating their answers, showing signs of improvement. But it's all part of the game. They will try to lull you into a false sense of security. They will make you take your guard down after you start believing you have the upper hand. And when you do, they'll make you scream."

She shuddered. This last one was oddly similar to what Dr Arkham told her three weeks ago after he _finally_ granted her a trial session with one the _SUs_ alias _Special Unit Boys,_ as he liked to call them. And so, she finally had one of her own: her first psychopath. And it wasn't just anyone either; he was the psychopath above all psychopaths in Gotham. _Every therapist's nightmare_ , she had been informed. To her, though…well, to _her_ , he was a dream come true. She opened her eyes and studied her face in the dirty mirror above. Oh _yes_ , he was the one she was hoping for. She wouldn't have had almost beaten Arkham to death with her pleas over some second rate homicidal maniac. No, she wanted _him._ And by the grace of gods, she somehow got him on her list.

She took a deep breath and squared her jaw. She was going to live through this. She worked for it and she deserved it. She was _not_ going to let some anxiety ruin what so far was the best moment in her budding career. Self-doubts ahead of a challenging therapy session were normal. Mild panic was expected. What was unforgivable was showing these weaknesses in front of the patient. And she was not about to do that, otherwise she'd be dead.

A sharp knock on her door pulled her back to reality.

"Dr Quinzel? The patient's ready in room 14965," the deep, calm voice of one of the guards cut through the shocked silence in her office.

She jumped to her file cabinet and checked the clock.

It was _time_ indeed.

Leaning on the cabinet for support, the blonde mustered all her strength to reply in an equally even tone: "I'll be right with you, Mr Bolt".

She turned to the mirror again, her reflection staring right back: wide eyed, unblinking and devoid of any colour. She already removed her red lipstick straight after lunch. She knew there were indeed _special_ procedures to be followed when it came to the Special Care Unit patients. No revealing clothing, no high heels, no extravagancies, no visible makeup. _God._ Her breath became rugged and her heart pounded in her ribcage like on that day when she received her dissertation grade. _This was it._ _This was the moment._

The last thing she did as she was leaving her office was to look at the piece of paper on her desk. _No._ She won't need that. She'll improvise with her questions. After all _, they_ liked spontaneity. And if they did, she was sure _he_ would just _love_ it.

 **I haven't yet decided how long this little story will be. Maybe just a collection of scenes like this one, maybe a multichapter, I don't really know. Therefore, reactions are very much appreciated. Thanks for reading!**

 **ZeldaK**


	2. Brooklyn Girl

The cell 14965 was in a dire state. The padded walls were dirty, the air stale and the makeshift bed half broken. Nevertheless, the room was a lot more spacious than those of her other patients.

 _Nothing but the best for the King,_ thought the blonde doctor as she took in her new, gloomy workplace.

She slowly approached the wooden desk in the centre until a lean man in a straightjacket came to view.

She stopped in her tracks.

She couldn't see his face yet, but even in the dim light she could make out the unmistakable green hair.

Letting out a soft sigh, she smiled contently. She was really meeting him. The _Joker_. It was the beginning of a life changing experience, she was certain of that. She closed the distance between them with a few long strides.

And felt her heart sink. The man she was so anxious to meet was facing her with his eyes closed. He just sat there, rigid and still as a statue, having not a care in the world that he was part of a session that was supposed to either make or break her career. She took a moment to eye his appearance. Everything from the slicked back hair, the thin lips with remnants of red lipstick, the sickly pale skin, the horrible 'Damaged' tattoo sitting proudly on his smooth forehead….. It was all _just_ like she imagined. He was giving her a cold shoulder, but it didn't matter. Her dreams _did_ come true after all.

She spread his files neatly in front of her and cleared her throat.

Nothing. Not even a twitch of a mouth to indicate he was aware of her presence.

She took a deep breath.

"I wish you a good afternoon. I am your new psychiatrist -,"

"You're late, dollface."

She froze, his growl cutting through her frame like a well-sharpened knife.

"You are late to our appointment. I was sitting here, bounded like an animal for ages before you finally marched in. Now, in _my_ field of work, keeping your partner waiting is really _bad_ for business. Was _that_ the note you wanted to start our relationship on, huh?"

She couldn't look away from his gaunt form as he cracked his neck from side to side. Was she imagining things or did he sound genuinely _insulted_?

She sat there in stunned silence until his high-pitched cackle filled the air.

"What? A _shrink_ who has nothing to say? That's new!"

And with that, his purple eyelids flashed open and he pinned her down with a pair of merciless blue eyes.

For a moment, the man in front of her looked every bit as taken aback as she felt. However, his chapped lips soon stretched into an enormous grin. She suppressed a shiver. His bared metal teeth seemed more like a threat than a friendly gesture.

"I take my words back! _You_ were certainly worth the wait. So, what brings you to Arkham, Dr...?"

She shook off her trance, cursing herself inwardly. What was she _doing_?

"Quinzel," she said as firmly as she could, "my name is Dr Harleen Quinzel. It's a pleasure to meet you. You're quite the celebrity down here."

She hoped a compliment would break the ice. She knew he _loved_ attention. It was a 'Psychopathy 101' kind of thing. To her dismay, he just kept leering at her unblinkingly.

Clearing her throat, she quickly added: "I will be conducting these sessions with you from now on, so I hope we will get on well and that you'll benefit from our time together. You may address me as 'Dr Quinzel' or just 'Doctor', whichever you like best. What should I call _you_?"

"You never answered _my_ question, Doctor. What are you doing at Arkham?" he purred as he leaned across the table, the metal clips of his straightjacket clunking on the surface. She sensed danger in his honeyed tone. An act. It was all an act. On top of that, he just _somehow_ gained control over the therapy. How? _When_?

Running a hand through her ponytail in slight frustration, she decided to humor him the moment.

"I did. I told you I am your new therapist. I am here to help you."

The howling that erupted from his form sent chills up her spine. She knew he was unstable, but this was something else. She couldn't bear it. The wild cackles kept bouncing of the cold cell walls, shaking her to the core. She needed him to _shut_ _up_. He _had_ to shut up now!

Tears streamed down his pale cheeks when he finally calmed down.

"Help?" he croaked.

"With what? Imma a big boy, I can tie my own shoelaces!"

"So you feel like you don't need help? It says here," she tapped the thick folder with her finger, "that you've been to Arkham four times already, plus five times at the Blackgate Prison, albeit for a short amount of time. It seems pretty clear to me that you _have_ a problem. People don't usually spend time at special security institutions without a reason. Have you ever thought about why are you here?"

He gave her an intense look before leaning forward once more. She couldn't help but do the same.

"I am here," he whispered with his lips slightly parted, "because I like to be here. And after today, I like being here a _lot_ more."

She certainly didn't expect that. She felt her face go red from the unwanted attention as he gave her a small, slow grin. This line of questioning was futile.

"Let's get back to my previous question. What should I call you? I don't address my patients by their Arkham ID number, it just doesn't feel right," she added with a slight distaste. He cocked an eyebrow at her last remark. Sitting back in his seat, he measured her from underneath hooded eyelids.

"You know who I am."

"No, I _don't_ ," she retorted, "I know your…your, what do you call it? Your 'business name'. I know the persona you show to your thugs and fellow criminals. The one you so proudly present to the Gotham News. To Batman."

She saw him flinch at the last remark, but continued nevertheless.

"I want to get to know the _real_ you. The person you are when you're on your own. Without the audience, the attention. Who _are_ you when the curtains close?"

She was shocked by her heated monologue. She tried to control her breathing, but her trembling fingers already gave her excitement away.

He laughed, the light from the small desk lamp catching in his silver smile.

"Aren't you a prying little monster? I tell you what," he leaned forward again, the restraints around his shoulders stretching.

"You gotta earn that, doll."

"Dr Quinzel," the blonde corrected him with a slight frown.

His smirk only widened.

"Fine. I'll just call you _Mr Joker_ ," she concluded with a huff, flicking through the files.

"Let's talk about your public persona then, since you are so unwilling to let it go. Do you enjoy being a gangster?"

She leaned on her elbows, staring at him through her glasses eagerly. He sat in silence, observing her with a coy smile. It was a bold question. She could hear his mind running leaps. Calculating. Planning his next move. And deciding that remaining silent would struck her tight nerves.

She gulped, casting her eyes down. It was hard, pretending that it didn't bother her. That she wasn't _dying_ on the inside for him to talk to her. She shakily reached for the files, turning the pages over with unseeing eyes.

She was furious with herself. _Why_ was she letting him do this?

He was dictating her mood too now!

 _Focus._ _Get in control of the situation._

It had been very easy to tell herself _that_ in her little office. Having control over the session when _he_ was present was a lot more difficult than she anticipated.

She came to her senses when she reached the photos at the end of the file. She had seen them all a thousand times. The mugshot, the glittering suits, the sports cars, the customized _everything_. She even remembered the police file in Dr Arkham's office that showed him in 'action'. She was _fascinated_ by those pictures the most. The guns, the bombs; the hell he unleashed on Gotham whenever he felt like it. When he was bored with the usual drug dealing and racketeering. He always looked so _cheerful_ when he was surrounded by dead bodies and had blood stains on his silk shirts. Almost as content as he seemed now…

She looked up to see him staring at her with the same unreadable expression.

Her throat tightened. The silence was getting unbearable and she knew what was happening very well. He had lost interest. She failed. And it was a crushing disappointment to her. As if he could hear her thoughts, he gave her a smug smile before turning away from her.

No.

He wouldn't _dare_ to do that.

Not after all the effort it cost her to actually meet with him.

He was supposed to _be the milestone_ in her career! She knew she could do this! She only had to leave an impression, catch his attention!

"What about your style, Mr Joker? Those shiny suits are sure tacky. One would say your money could buy something better. But I suppose money can't buy _taste_ , can it?"

Pathetic. The jab was _pathetic_ and nothing short of juvenile. If it wasn't her job at stake there, she could had laughed.

He just stared at her in amusement before shaking his head and closing his eyes once more.

It felt like death to her. She really, _truly_ lost. It was game over. _When_ did it even happen? Tears stung in her eyes as she began to gather the files from the table. She had to say something. She needed to keep up appearances. She needed to let him know that it wasn't her who was being dismissed so callously. She forced herself to smile:

"Well, we should call it a day. You seem to be tired and I am quite exhausted myself."

No response.

She would had been ashamed of herself, had she been beginning for attention like this from anyone else. With him though, she could only ramble on in a strained voice.

"I will try to have these sessions moved to mornings instead of afternoons. Perhaps that will-"

"You have _no_ sessions," his cold, bored voice cut her off for a second time that day.

"You were here on a _trial_. And whether you get more sessions or not is .me."

He held her gaze with those emotionless, piercing eyes.

She let out a shaky breath. How did he know? How did he _know_?

She heard him chuckle.

"Thought I couldn't see right through your bluff, did ya?", he hummed in a silky voice.

"You are no professional doctor, _Harleen_. You are just a pretty blonde trying to prove herself. You've been seeing who until now? Schizophrenic thieves from the A Unit? Good old Jerry Arkham _must_ have a soft spot for you, doll. That, or he's even more _stupid_ than I imagined."

She was too stunned to correct him for addressing her so inappropriately.  
She watched in horror as he practically lied down on the table between them, beaming at her excitedly: "Wanna know what else I know about you? I know you're a good girl from a bad part of Brooklyn with a knack for gymnastics. After all, mommy and daddy wouldn't be able to afford the tuition fees at Gotham University without that scholarship, would they?"

She was frozen to her seat, the cool metal chair biting into her burning flesh. Staring at the grinning man in front of her with wide eyes, she heard the screaming inside her head.

How?

Just _how_ did he _know_ these things?

The familiar pressure of panic began to rise in her chest when she heard him sneer.

"You got enough _impressions_ of today's session for your little book or should I continue?"

She was sure she forgot how to breathe. There was _no way_ he could know that. She never told anyone about her plan to write a book based on her research here at Arkham! Unless she counted that job interview with Dr Arkham, but he _surely_ wouldn't get access to that sort of thing...

She gulped, feeling streams of cold sweat trickling down her back. When she started to shake uncontrollably, she knew she had to get out of the room fast.

"I know what you're doing. I've read your files. You may have manipulated, _bullied_ and frightened those therapists before me to oblivion, but _I am not like them_! I am _not_ afraid of you. You can never corner me, Mr Joker! I believe you _need_ _me_ if you ever hope to appeal at the court regarding your life sentence! So, I am standing my ground whether you like it or not, for _your_ sake!"

And with that, she jumped from her chair and bolted towards the cell door. As the massive piece of metal was closing behind her, she heard his soft chuckle:

"You are right. There is no one like you. There is just _you_."

 **...**

 **First of all,** _ **thank you**_ **all so much for the follows, favorites and reviews! They sure kept me going when I was writing this chapter. I have to apologize for the long wait. When I posted the first chapter, I wasn't sure about the structure of this story. I was planning to write more snap shots like that instead of proper chapters. However, now I have a clear plot in my mind and know exactly what I'd like to put in the next installments of this little experiment.**

 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter, from my perspective it was incredibly difficult to write. I had** _ **so**_ **many ideas and versions of their first meeting I can't even begin to tell you. I am still unsure whether I am entirely on board with this one, but I know you've all waited long enough now.**

 **Let me know what you think! Opinions are very welcome and read with great care.**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **ZeldaK**


	3. Dr Arkham

By the time the soft sunlight peered through the cream curtains in her bedroom, Harleen Quinzel was already wide awake, lying tangled in her bed sheets. She couldn't believe the weekend was over so soon. It _was_ a beautiful weekend, unusually warm for mid-November. She should had loved it. She should had taken an autumn walk in the park down the road from her apartment. Yellow, bronze and red leaves would had framed her path across the meadows. There would had been squirrels hopping on the cold ground, looking frantically for nuts and fallen maroons to store for winter. Perhaps she would had been able to see swans on the lake, swimming gracefully in the murky waters...

Instead, she spent those two precious days crying her eyes out at home.

With a moan, the blonde hid her face behind her hands, wishing she could just stay in her apartment till her dying day. The events from last Friday afternoon kept replaying in her head like a bad dream. She busted out of Joker's cell like a madwoman, sprinting past her two terrified guards, eyes wild and mouth twisted in a silent sob. She remembered Bolt calling after her, his deep voice etched with concern. She didn't spare him a second glance, though. She was already in the elevator, hitting the buttons to the third floor manically. She made a complete fool of herself. Her only luck was that the asylum was almost empty at that hour. She wouldn't had survived running into someone important in that state. Thinking of how she must had looked, all sweaty and hyperventilating as she stumbled into her office and collapsed on the cold floor, made the doctor shudder in shame even now. She hadn't had a panic attack in years...

 _What a mess_ , she thought, tracing the patterns the sun drew on her bed covers with a sigh. What a _joke_ that session was. What was she thinking? That she could really just pull off a therapy with the most dangerous, bloodthirsty and unhinged mob boss in town without any preparation? She remembered the note pad in her office. Why didn't she bring it? Even those few, botched up questions would have given her some sort of a guideline, some sort of a reference to keep her on track when her mind went completely blank the first time he flashed his grill at her. Oh, how she lost her cool in that cell! She was so excited, so desperate to prove she _could_ do it… Prove to whom? To herself? To _him_? To Arkham?

It didn't matter anymore, she thought with her eyes shut. She fucked up and the failure was deserved. The worst part was that the news of her disastrous session with Joker had certainly reached Arkham's ears by then. The young psychiatrist let out a shaky breath. She was going to get put off his case. After all the hard work, she would be back to square one, filing reports and treating criminals with adjustment issues - she was sure of that. Blinking away fresh tears that threatened to escape her already red rimmed eyes, the blonde got out of bed and slowly made her way to the bathroom. She needed a hot shower.

…...

An hour later, she sat by an obnoxiously loud coffee grinder, impatiently drumming her red painted fingers on the table. Her pale eyes wandered through the sea of tired faces that surrounded her in that packed, down town café. Businessmen, teachers, nurses, students and lawyers, all lining up by the counter, rising on their tiptoes as they tried to shout their orders over the sounds of dozens cappuccinos and lattes being prepared by the huffing bartenders. It was 8:30 in the morning and they all needed that caffeine hit before yet another gloomy Monday in Gotham City. The blonde looked down on her now cold espresso. She barely drank any of it. _Such a waste_ , she thought, pushing the cup aside, her hand itching for her mobile phone.

She could call in sick. It was that easy. She could just pick up her phone and ring up the Asylum reception to say she was not coming in for the day.

She could do that. She definitely _should_ do that. With a sigh, the young doctor took out a large black folder from her handbag. She gulped. She took his files home with her on that terrible Friday. She shouldn't had done it, she knew that. Patient information, especially _his_ information was supposed to stay on site, safely locked in file cabinets. But she couldn't help herself. She knew she was going to say goodbye to them soon and she was just not ready for that yet. She flipped the folder open, forcing herself not to cry again at the sight of her empty entry.

She _did_ consider fabricating the report.

She spent most of her weekend just looking up the biography section in his file, laughing humourlessly at all the blank columns. She could make it all up. Really, what were the chances of him _not_ being somewhere in his thirties? And 'J' could stand equally for Joker as it could for a real name: maybe Jordan. Jack? _Jordan_. Or James. She could even _add_ another wacky nickname and claim that's what he demanded she called him. 'Shakespeare's favourite tragedy'. Perhaps even 'Ace of Spades', he would had liked that one! She recalled the paragraph in the folder. Oh, he had _many_ names: Smiley, The Clown, J, _King_ of Gotham City, _Dr Seuss, God's Only Child…._

The blonde snorted. No. Whatever she came up with, it sure _wouldn't_ sound weird among that array of bullshit. She could virtually write anything she wanted. Just to have something. Just to show that she got _somewhere,_ anywhere with Joker. That he had not wiped floors with her, that he had not read her like an open book, pushing her buttons while she, his supposed therapist, the one who was there to make some sense out of his crazy, was utterly clueless, gaping at the man like a fish out of water.

She shut the folder close with an annoyed frown. She couldn't cheat. She was over it a hundred times and she made her decision.

She crossed the parking lot to her car, carefully avoiding puddles of rain water in the uneven concrete. She would go to work today. She would admit she was unprofessional in her reckless approach to the session. She would admit she lost it a bit (a lot) afterwards. Most importantly, she would stress she was _fine_ now and ready to continue with her internship, but that she would put the decision of whether or not she deserved to carry on with her training at Arkham Asylum into the hands of the man himself. It was going to be alright. She would _live_.

…...

"What do you mean you _quit_!?"

"I-I mean I overestimated my abilities like you said I did. I accept what you told me last week. I'm not ready to take on any major cases just yet. You were right, Dr Arkham."

She did _not_ anticipate her conversation with the head psychiatrist to go this way. He was _not_ supposed to be trying to talk her _out_ of this!

The black haired man in question stared at her with hard eyes, his hand frozen to spot over a piece of paper he was about to sign. She came to see him straight after her arrival to work, but he had a meeting with the investors. She sometimes forgot Jeremiah Arkham was not just a doctor - he was also the owner of the place. It was past lunch time when she finally got a minute with him and by then, she was starving. Perhaps she was in luck though: the thought of food in that precise moment made her want to vomit. She fidgeted in her seat, tugging on her pencil skirt. The silence in the office was deafening.

"What I want to say is that I came to apologize-," her elaboration was cut short by a string of agitated words.

"You _can't_ just quit! Not _now_ and _not_ on _him_! Dr Quinzel, I _gave_ you the opportunity to prove to me _and_ your colleagues what you've been claiming about yourself ever since you set foot in this facility! That extreme personalities are your interest! That the 'Dark Triad' personality disorders are your speciality and that this _freak_ is 'the puzzle you always hoped to solve'. Those were your _exact_ words! And now you tell me that you want _out?_ Do you even realize what _I_ 've been through in order to get you the job? All the papers I had to sign, the people I had to _convince_ to give _you_ , a fresh faced doctor, a chance, to have faith in you, to believe that you, with your youth and innovative approach, just _might_ be the miracle we've all been waiting for?"

She was cringing in the plush chair by then, swallowing hard. She had never seen Dr Arkham so furious. He was not an easy-going person to begin with and this looked like she just pushed his buttons. She observed the way his spittle landed on the computer keyboard on the desk in a trance, his speech a mere unpleasant noise in the background.

"…you turn up _unprepared_ for the session and when it doesn't go your way, you just run away like a scared little girl, so you can beg me to put a stop to this experiment _you_ started yourself! Are you or are you not the same Harleen Quinzel I spoke to for the last three months?"

She just gaped at him, not knowing what to say to his outburst.

"I-I..,"

"Well?" he barked, flicking matted hair away from his forehead.

"I-it is me," she croaked finally, feeling more stupid by every second.

Jeremiah Arkham pinched his nose, exhaling soundly.

" _Doctor_ Quinzel,… Harleen," he began as he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.

"You are a smart girl, okay? I remember your application. Outstanding grades, fantastic recommendations, great passion for the job from the very start."

He looked her over for the first time since she came knocking on his door, his gaze softening when he noticed her distress about the situation. _She was still a kid._ He forgot that sometimes.

He took a deep breath before continuing.

"Last Friday was…a _bad_ day. Do you understand? Yes, you made a mistake. As long as you work here, never e _ver_ come to _any_ session without a plan. It's like… giving a lecture or a presentation! You want to keep some notes on hand to help you in case your mind goes blank. You _had_ presentations at the university, didn't you?" He tried to be kind, but even he had to wince at the sickly sweet tone he subconsciously adapted. The young doctor still looked at him with eyes widened in confusion.

"Listen to me, Quinzel. These things happen in this profession. Not every session goes the way we want it. That's part of the thrill of the job! It doesn't mean you're doing it all wrong, though! You are new here, you don't have experience under your belt yet, it is understandable you had a bit of a melt-down last week. It's all _alright_. Really. What is _not_ alright is that you now want to _abandon_ the case you _wanted so much_! Don't give up! He is a complete monster, we all know that, but _you have to last longer than one therapy_! I mean, how do you think _that_ will look in your CV?"

She gulped, nodding frantically. She still couldn't comprehend _why_ he was being so understanding, but it didn't matter. Slowly but surely, an ecstatic feeling began to flutter in her chest. She came there to give Joker up with her tail between her legs and she was now going to come out with a personal plea from this legendary man to continue with her efforts to treat the untreatable! Could there be any _better_ Monday?

"Just give it one more shot, ok? Try again. I _know_ I protested a lot when you first asked me to grant you a try out session with the clown, but _now_ I know you have a potential! At least he talked to you! Dr Leeland didn't have that luck! He ignored her five sessions in a row and _Dr Leeland_ is someone around here, if you know what I mean," he concluded, giving her a conspirator's wink.

Yes, she knew what he meant perfectly well. He was clearly not accepting her failure as a reason to shoo her away from the Clown unlike he promised to do a week ago! She was safe! Well, not entirely…

"And what about those things he said to me? All the personal information he had on me. I mean, I don't feel comfortable knowing-"

"Ah, do not worry about that. Those are the usual scare tactics of the clown. He does background checks on _everyone_ he lies his eyes upon, believe me. I don't know how he does it from inside of that shit hole on the ground floor. What I _know_ is that it has always been that way. We cannot put a stop to it. Neither can I, nor can the GCPD. It's just the way things are with Joker, he always _knows_ stuff we would be all rather he didn't," Arkham added in distaste. He quickly collected himself though, imploring her one last time:

"I don't mean to scare you, Dr Quinzel. You just need to be _careful_. What we're doing here with him is not… strictly _legal_ , you see. He gets a lot of privileges. I'm sure you noticed by now. It's our priority to keep him as happy as possible. For safety reasons. He is unmanageable when cranked up." The young doctor raised her eyebrows. She couldn't imagine a crueller person than the green haired man from last week. Was that him on his good behaviour?

"So, while this may all seem a bit _unconventional_ to you, rest assured we at Arkham do all we can to keep this facility a safe place for everyone, to make it safe for _you_. Don't let his words scare you, Harleen. There is no real danger to him here as long as you stick to your job."

He clasped his hands in front of him, clearly content with his pacifying monologue. Smiling down on her in expectation, the senior psychiatrist awaited her response.

She cleared her throat. She was still stunned by this incredible turn of events. All her worries, all those weekend blues – gone! She felt a warm smile spreading across her rosy features. In that moment, she was the epitome of sunshine.

"Dr Arkham. I-I don't even know what to say. Thank you so, _so much_ for being so patient and encouraging. You have no idea how much I appreciate this second chance with Joker!"

Visibly relieved, the dark haired man waved her off with a flick of his wrist, happy he could return to his paperwork. The young doctor walked out of his office with a new spring in her step. He watched her slender back until the white doors closed behind her.

 _Poor girl. She has no idea what she's signed herself up for._

He sighed shakily, averting his gaze to the crumpled note he hid in his desk drawer. Across the tainted scrap of paper, eight words were written in a red chicken scrawl.

 _Suicide Blonde. I want her. Don't disappoint. –J_

 **New chapter's up! I apologize again for the less frequent update… I can't say anything without it sounding like an excuse, but you know what I mean when I say I juggle a lot of things at once! Especially the uni "ain't easy".**

 **So thank you so much for reading and for all the follows, favourites and especially: the reviews! I am interested in what you think, how could I improve this story or my writing in general. Suggestions and opinions are therefore very welcome, so please send a feedback! Other than that, have a great Wednesday!**

 **ZeldaK**


	4. Crowbar

Five session. Five sessions and _zero_ progress.

The blonde leaned back in the uncomfortable chair and watched her green haired patient trash about in his restraints in yet another wave of hysterical laughter. _He was on a roll again_. She sighed. She tried everything.

She was _so_ excited during the first weeks of getting back to his case. It turned out that in her elation she clearly overestimated Joker's own enthusiasm for the therapy.

"The Clown Prince of Crime" welcomed her back with a million dollar smile. He said he was happy to see her. _Overjoyed,_ to be exact. He showered her with compliments and somewhere between his low whispers and prolonged stares from underneath his lashes, he apologised profoundly for his "lack of tact and generally awful behaviour" the first time they met. He assured her he just was in a foul mood, but that he did not mean to take it out on her.

" _I hope you don't hold a grudge for long, Dr Quinzel. It would be a shame if you were to pout all the time. You look so_ beautiful _when you smile, really. It makes my day."_

She guessed the seductive mannerism was his strategy to make amends with her.

Pity he thought she was that _dumb_ as to fall for it.

Despite her better judgement, though, Harleen Quinzel allowed herself for that one, delightful afternoon to believe that she had _had_ some sort of an effect on that man. That he now fully intended to cooperate and actively engage in the treatment he so desperately needed. So she brought down the Hare's Psychopathy checklist she was so thrilled to use for the first time in her career. She willingly trapped herself in her office for a week to bite through stacks of clinical studies on the treatment of manic depressive disorder. She even dedicated an entire Tuesday morning to visiting a pharmaceutical company to personally research the latest trends in anti-psychotics. And despite disgruntled murmurs from some of her colleagues, she asked at the asylum's lab if she could bring her infamous patient for an MRI to see how he responded to emotional ques on screen. _That_ would almost be like a field trip to the Joker, she was sure of that.

But as so far was always her case at the Arkham Asylum, she was terribly wrong.

When she eagerly announced her plans, her patient just stared at her for two minutes straight before dramatically blowing the checklist papers away from the table. She didn't dare to ask him about the MRI scans after that.

And so, it was Joker who constructed the pattern their sessions always followed: she would come down to his shabby cell every week and hope that _this_ one would be better. And just like every week, she would end up sitting in the cold chair in silence. She would watch him as he talked about everything and nothing at all, recounting for her the utterly mundane events from his rigid day schedule at the asylum. She watched him as he shuffled his bare feet on the concrete floor, rolling his bloodshot eyes at the mention of the food standard at the facility. She resisted the urge to tell him he had special deliveries in the first place and that the _real_ food at Arkham was _much_ worse. He probably knew that anyway.

Sometimes, he would stare right back at her in silence, tracing her face with keen eyes. It was a strange sensation, but she got used to it after a while. That was the only thing one could do about _Joker_ , she supposed. To get _used to_ him. Because there was no way _he_ was going to change for anybody. She came to that conclusion fairly quickly too….

BANG!

The sudden crash sent the young doctor jumping out of her chair.

"What are you doing?" she cried with her heart in her throat.

A low chuckle was all the response she got.

"You need to loosen up, doctor. Or perhaps _don't_. You already seem to be a little _too_ comfortable here _._ Am I that boring that you can't help zoning out every other minute?"

He purred but she caught the flash of irritation in his pale eyes. The baby blues were _very_ deceptive.

She exhaled deeply, pushing a few strands of hair behind her ear.

"Not at all, Mr Joker. It's just that since you refuse to participate in _anything_ I prepare for the session, it leaves me with a lot to think about. Specifically, what is it that I am doing wrong again?" the blonde replied with a frown.

"Oh, don't be so harsh on yourself, doctor. I don't like seeing you upset."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Will you fill out this test for me then?"

The sickly pale man in front of her gave a disinterested scoff before he leant back in his seat, looking around himself with a content smile as if they were discussing weather on a sunny terrace in the old town. With a sigh, she rested her tired face in her hands, staring at the patient in silent fury.

Why did he always insist on making everything so _difficult_?

 _Why_ did she want him in the first place?

She _had_ to be insane. No one in their right mind would do this to themselves willingly.

"I thought you wanted me to treat you," she complained, unable to keep the sulkiness away from her tone.

As per usual, he just snickered at her displeasure. " _No_ , that's what _you_ wanted to do. _I,_ well _I_ just wanted to have _fun_. Unfortunately, it turns out you're _not all that,_ Doctor _Quin-zel._ "

Within seconds, her palms were balled into little fists. She hated when he pronounced her name with that lilt. But even more, she _hated_ being called _boring_ _after all her efforts to keep him entertained._

"And what do you mean by _that_ exactly, Mr Joker?" the young doctor pressed through clenched teeth.

He leaned in then, giving her that rictus grin she came to know so well it haunted her every night in her sleep. Even the view on the shimmering reflection of the moon on pitch black waters of the Gotham Channel she could see from her bedroom lost its charm to her. All those silvery waves ever reminded her of now were the glints of metal that danced in her vision whenever he opened his mouth.

"Oh. I think you know what I mean, _doctor_. You are such a _goody two shoes._ Little Miss Perfect trying to straighten up big baddies with a nice word and an angelic smile. Tell me, can you even _relate_ to the guys around here with your self-righteousness? I've heard mutual understanding is the basis of every good therapy." He was mocking her again, jabbing at her slowly decreasing self-confidence.

The doctor took a deep breath to steady herself. The _right_ decision would be to ignore his remark and return to the main problem: his lack of cooperation. _That_ would be the smart thing to do, whispered the quite, reasonable voice in her head. The thing a professional psychiatrist would do… She glanced at the Joker's victorious grin and her frown deepened. Hell _no_. She was _not_ giving him this one.

His pale eyes followed her every movement as she leaned across the marked table with a determined scowl marring her attractive face: "I believe you would be very surprised about how _bad_ I can be."

…And she overdid it. She knew it the second those words left her mouth. It sounded like a line out of a bad porn movie and the low chuckle that escaped his painted lips only confirmed her horror. Feeling embarrassed to the bone, the blonde doctor slumped back into her seat looking anywhere but Joker's tattooed form.

" _Oh,_ Quinzel," he snickered as he supported his chest against the table between them.

She blushed more than she ever thought it was possible. _This was worse than bad._

"Alright. I'm in! Prove it."

She blinked. "What?"

"I said prove it. When you want to play the game, doctor, you gotta be ready to go _all in_ so to speak. So, show me what you've got."

She straightened up in her chair in a sudden rush of panic. "I don't _need_ to prove anything to you. In fact, I don't have to discuss anything you want. You refuse to talk about things I want to talk about, so I will do the same." She licked her quivering lips and gave her patient the best glare she could muster under her shameful circumstances.

Joker merely rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, Harleen!"

"Quinzel. It's _Doctor_ Quinzel!"

"Don't pester me with the _formalities_ now. You cannot go _back_ on such a promise! And boy, was it a good one…"

"I made no-"

"But you did! In that once sentence, you were asking for this. So. Show me what a _total wild card_ you are," he purred, raising his non-existent eyebrows.

The blonde stared at the clownish mob boss in horror. There goes staying in control of the session again…

She squeezed her eyes shut before turning to face the grinning man with a defeated sigh. " _Fine_. I did not say I am a _wild card_ or whatever _you_ thought I meant. But I am not some naïve fool with a golden heart you obviously mistake me for." She watched in anguish as he mockingly pouted his red stained lips.

"The neighbourhood _I_ come from, as you of course _know_ ," she continued with a glare, "is not a _nice_ one at all. Hardly a place that would showcase the good side of human nature. One had to stoop low sometimes to get what was needed. You had to be _tough_ and…" the blonde noticed his broad shoulders were shaking and realized he was holding in his laughter.

"Oh you-!" she cried in anger as he couldn't contain it anymore, trying to blink away the tears of laughter from his gleaming eyes. "Doctor Quinzel, this _has_ to be the funniest thing you've ever said. Do you consider yourself a _street_ _gal_ then? Oh, my apologies: a street girl _with_ an MD?"

"No! I didn't say that! God, you are _im_ possible to hold a conversation with!" She was fuming by then.

"Alright alright, I _am_ sorry. Continue, please."

"I won't," she announced with arms crossed.

"Come on, doctor. This is by far the best session we had together. Don't ruin it."

She was about to end it early when she was hit by a sudden inspiration: "I will tell you _one_ thing about me you wouldn't expect if you promise to tell me something about yourself in return." The young doctor was smiling contently. She _knew_ he wouldn't be able to resist such an offer. Accordingly, Joker rolled his tongue around in his mouth, clearly irritated.

At last, he leaned in in his restraints and groaned in deliberation: "Why the hell _not_? Go on, girl." She almost let out a joyful squeal. Clasping her hands in front of her chest, she beamed at her muttering patient in delight. _She won this round_. And it felt _fantastic._

"Alright. So, as I was saying, growing up there, surrounded by the people and that environment - it just wasn't the easiest. My parents, well my parents tried their best and worked around the clock but it wasn't nearly enough. I mean, we could afford all we needed but as a child, it was hard coming to terms with not having all the trinkets some of my classmates had. But I was willing to do my bit as soon as I could." She glanced carefully at Joker who appeared to be hanging on her every word, his calculating eyes suddenly alight with curiosity.

 _She had him just where she wanted._

Smiling, she continued with even more eagerness: "As a teenager, I took up this job at a run-down car repair place where the gas was cheaper than anywhere else in Gotham. The owner, let's call him Mr Brown, was a mean old _prick_ but he paid me well to wash the cars and count the money at the end of each day. He didn't trust the boys to do that, you see: they were there just to fix up the engines. So one day, me and Mr Brown are sitting there in that cabin stinking of motor oils and gasoline, checking the cash when suddenly, I feel his grubby hands running up and down my thigh, muttering… _things_ in my ear. Naturally, I didn't wait for him to act on them. So, I took the crow bar lying nearby and I hit him across the face," she concluded almost breathlessly.

The look on Joker's face was utterly _priceless_.

Slowly, he shook his head in disbelief. "No," he said gaping at her with his mouth slightly ajar, "no, I don't think you did that."

"But I _did_! And then I pocketed the money from that day and left him there on the floor cursing with a split eyebrow. I mean, I know I shouldn't have done it. But he was a terrible man and I guess it was a fair compensation for that _disgusting_ proposal…" Her voice faltered. After saying it out loud, she suddenly wasn't sure if her actions were really _that_ justifiable…

 _Oh god,_ Harleen thought with dread slowly spreading through her form as she met Joker's scheming gaze. _She should had kept her mouth shut._

Silence engulfed them until he let out a wild cackle: "Damn it doctor, you really _did_ , didn't you? Ha!"He threw his head back in a roaring laughter, his entire body shaking as if he was in a spasm. "Ah, you're good, doc. Really. I sure did _not_ expect that. Tell me, what did you do with all the cash? Do you get _this_ defensive at every guy that chats you up in a club?" he asked observing her with unfeigned interest in his cold eyes.

She just shook her head, picking up her notepad and a pencil. _Time to divert attention._

"Your turn, Mr Joker. We had a deal."

Joker sighed. "There she goes again, killing all the fun." He winked at her playfully, hoping she'd continue. But when the blonde just stared back in expectation, his grin faded as he realized with a grunt that he had no choice but to stick to their bargain.

Shuffling in the seat, Joker announced in a mock whisper: "Believe it or not, doctor, I _too_ have a penchant for crow bars."

She felt her blood run cold. There was something about the way he smiled at her so deviously that set her on edge. It was a promise. A promise that she would not like what she was about to hear. And when he bore his cruel, prickling eyes into hers, she could had almost seen _all_ the unspoken horrors play out for her in his icy blue orbs.

Digging her nails into the note pad, the doctor gulped: "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he nodded slowly with a grin, never releasing her from his gaze. "You remember _that_ one time with the kid, huh? That little _Robin_ B-man kept around? Birdie didn't know when to stop chirping, so J had to put a stop to it. One could say I ruffled up his feathers real good. He sure wasn't able to fly after that."

Emotionless. His attitude towards the whole thing was so _cold_ it scared her more than anything she heard about that event. _Of course_ she remembered the "Robin case". The rumoured murder of the boy-sidekick was something of an urban legend, but everyone in Gotham knew there was more truth to it than anyone dared to admit out loud. They couldn't find him for weeks, all that was left in the abandoned plant was his battered suit. Harleen saw the coverage from that day. The GCPD cars, the police sirens. The stunned, pale faces of the officers. It was as if the boy disappeared from earth.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to erase the images that flooded her brain.

They said it was Batman who found the body. Apparently, the head was butchered up so bad even the vigilante wasn't able to identify the victim for sure. All that was certain was that two days later, Joker was brought to Arkham Asylum again.

Joker that was not laughing his face off for once, because he had no _teeth_ left to show.

The blonde lowered her gaze to his mouth. The silver capped set could not twinkle more mockingly in that moment. It was her reminder that what she just heard was all _true_.

The doctor took in a shaky breath. She was completely terrified to ask but she _had_ to know…

"Is that how you did it then? You killed him with a _crow bar_?"

"Oh, I did. It was fun, too! As _you_ would know, doll face, a crow bar has a very nice _swoosh_ to it," he imitated the sound, letting out a bark of laughter.

Sick. He was so _sick_.

Harleen could feel her throat constrict. She had this terrible urge to hear more, yet at the same time, she was _disgusted_. "How many?" she croaked finally.

He raised an eyebrow, yet she was sure he _knew_ what she meant.

"How many blows did it take?" she pressed in a mere whisper.

" _Oh_ ….many. There were _many_. You really get into it, you know. You work up a pace and you just _go_ with it after that. I can tell you though that by the end of it, Robin sure regretted ever wanting to work for the Bat," he gave her a wicked grin before continuing: "I mean, you have to admit that man's health plan _sucks_."

She stared at him wide eyed, unable to move.

"Oh god." she moaned: "oh my _god…_.,"

She wanted to say something to him, but her voice failed her.

So they just kept staring at each other, lost in their own thoughts. His of wails of pain and splatters of grey matter across a mudded concrete, hers of horror of what would had happened had she raised her hand and crushed the tool into Mr Brown's head a couple more times.

…

 **Thank you SO much for all the favourites, follows and reviews! I can't believe there are more than 100 of you following this story. It sure makes my day whenever I get an email with such notifications! Please, please, keep it up!**

 **I hope you enjoyed this new chapter and don't forget to leave feedback!**

 **ZeldaK**


	5. Sweet Tooth

"Good morning, Dr Quinzel."

The blonde flinched with her hand outstretched to grab a grape soda from a vending machine.

"Morning, Tiffany!"

She was getting the drink for the sixth time that day and it wasn't even past noon time.

The pretty receptionist must had thought she was crazy.

Letting out a nervous giggle, she waved at the girl behind the printer before making her escape back to her office. So what? She really _needed_ the sugar rush that day.

The young doctor let out a sigh as she shrugged off her white lab coat and approached her writing desk with slow, deliberate steps.

They were still there.

The _roses._

Deep crimson roses of the colour of blood. There had to be at least 50 of them, their large, blossoming heads touching each other's petals gently as their stems were bounded together with a shiny purple-and-gold bow.

They arrived in the morning while she was making herself a cup of coffee in the staff kitchen. She was _certain_ she locked the door before leaving. Harleen nearly spilled the hot beverage all over her legs when she saw the enormous bouquet sitting there proudly in the middle of her office. Someone had already put it in a glass vase too.

Of course, she knew _exactly_ who would had had the nerve to send her flowers so recklessly in broad daylight. The ridiculously coloured ribbon was a tell-tale sign.

She felt her fingertips tremble again.

 _If_ any of her colleagues would come to her office in her absence, if _anyone_ witnessed the delivery…

She would be screwed.

Her legs felt like jell-o as she moved around the table, slumping into the black leather chair with a moan.

Scratch that. She already _was_ screwed.

She hid the gift card in the lowest drawer underneath stacks of old newspapers. Taking it out again carefully, she couldn't help but admire the glamorous design.

On the finest gold paper engraved with a black diamond pattern stood the words:

 _For: The Hottest Doc in the Block_

 _Thanks for the good laughs last week._

 _I knew you would be fun!_

 _I'll see you soon._

 _-J_

She stared at the elegant handwriting in wonder. It sure wasn't _his_. She couldn't imagine the _Joker_ of all people sitting there with a nice black pen, practicing cursive letters. He just obviously lacked the patience.

But then again, she never would had guessed he'd send her flowers in the first place.

And what's with how he _knew_ she would be fun?! Didn't he actually accuse her of being a _prude_ on that very session? He literally _pushed_ her into confessing that stupid story with the car dealer!

The young psychiatrist tugged on her hair in frustration. It wasn't _entirely_ that way, no matter how much she pretended otherwise.

He never pushed her. It was her who decided to divulge such sensitive information to the clown-psychopath.

She amazed herself sometimes.

Ever since starting at the Arkham Asylum, she was _so_ concerned with doing everything right. She religiously followed the safety measures with all her other patients, and yet whenever she was with _him_ , her caution went out of the window.

She had no logical explanation for her behaviour. She just knew that for her, the best sessions were the ones when his cold blue eyes came to life with a little spark of interest. A spark that would turn into wildfire with every outrageous word she spoke.

She sighed, dejectedly popping the soda can open. Telling Joker about a petty theft at a car repair she committed in her teenage years was a pretty dumb decision. But it didn't erase the fact that being _fascinating_ to _him_ felt pretty good…

 _That's what Dr Arkham told you, Harls. He is_ different. _He is to be handled_ differently.

She didn't do anything wrong, did she? Just getting information out of her patient. Thanks to her decision, Dr Arkham could now feast his eyes on a brand new, exciting entry in Joker's files. He _confessed_ to Robin's murder! He _had never done_ that! No matter how much Commissioner Gordon pressed, how much Batman fumed and punched, he remained silent. But he told _her_. He told her because she told him her little story. Such a big step in the therapy was _sure_ worth a bit of special treatment.

Her eyes fell back on the extravagant bouquet. It was _very_ risky to have them there. But he clearly put a lot of thought into this gesture…

The young doctor pressed her pink lips.

She _loved_ flowers. She especially loved roses: their sweet, delicate yet potent smell, the softness of their petals and _this_ vivid red shade in particular was absolutely captivating! And in any case, she couldn't remember the last time someone gave her flowers…

 _No._ It was decided.

She won't throw them away.

They were special, they meant _too much_.

They were her medal, her proof that she made some progress with her infamous patient. She, irrelevant Harleen Quinzel from Brooklyn, Canarsie, was distinguished from all the other professionals, she was _chosen over_ the snobbish doctors with Harvard diplomas and hefty research grants. It was _her_. Not them.

And as soon as she reached this conclusion, she felt the pressure fall from her tiny shoulders like a heavy stone. Smiling, the blonde doctor opened her laptop and began to type her reports on patients from that day.

 _The world made sense again._

…..

"You cannot do that, Mr Joker."

"What do you mean, Doc- _tor_? Didn't you like your little gift?"

He was looking at her with a devious smile on his thin, parched lips. She was sure he knew just how much trouble he could had gotten her into.

She lowered herself into the chair with a sigh.

"I did. The flowers were beautiful. _Thank you_." He nodded, satisfied with her answer, before leaning back into his new chair. She managed to persuade the guards to get him a wooden one. It was hard exactly like the metal chair, but at least it was less cold.

" _However,"_ she continued with emphasis, "it doesn't mean that you should had sent them. What were you thinking? They could take you away from me."

That seemed to fully grab his attention. Pushing his lips back, he let out a deep growl: "They? Who are ' _they'?"_

She blinked a few times.

"The committee? The people who are _actually_ responsible for who gets to treat who?"

"Jerry would-"

"Dr Arkham has _no_ power over them. Their decisions are independent and _final._ One report of indecent incident, _one_ shadow of doubt casted on my person and these afternoons are _over_. You will _never_ see me again," she heaved, throwing her hands up in frustration. She _had_ to make him understand.

Joker just stared at her with white hot rage blazing in his eyes. The only sound in the damp cell was his laboured breathing.

"Let them try to do that. I _dare_ them."

The blonde's mouth fell open. She felt a mixture of excitement and pride surge through her veins. He wanted her for real. He wanted _her_ and no one else!

With shaky fingers, she adjusted her glasses and smiled broadly at her patient.

"I don't want to lose you either, Mr Joker."

He shifted his merciless gaze to look her straight in the eye. It was a terrifying sensation, yet she could not look away from that hypnotic shade of blue.

"Really?" he hummed, a slight grin tugging on his lips.

"Of course. Ever since I came here, I only wanted to treat _you_."

She cringed inwardly. _'Dumb confessions' time again_. No, not dumb. Just _special_ treatment. Arkham would approve.

Taking a deep breath, she continued with urgency: "I _can_ help you. I told you so before. I can do it, only if you _let_ me."

He stared at her in silence, poking his tongue against his cheek. He didn't seem furious anymore. Just thoughtful. _Contemplating_.

"What I mean is…our last session was _amazing_. When you told me about Robin…, I- I _finally_ had something substantial for the report. Something the committee and the doctors here could approve of. I _need_ more of such information, Mr Joker, _please_. We have to keep them happy. Do it. Do it for _me_."

She had no idea what prompted her to say the last words. Perhaps she was drunk on optimism after his reaction to the possibility of her being taken off his case. Perhaps she just wanted to know how far he would go to prevent that. If their time together really meant something to him. And when she saw the pale man lean forward again, her breath hitched and her fingers felt cold.

After what seemed like an eternity, he groaned: "Alright. I'll do it."

Just that. Just those four words and her world went spinning. She blindly fished out some personality evaluation tests and began to ask questions, listening only partially, unbelieving of what had just transpired.

Before she knew it, the stopwatch buzzed, signalling an end to their session. She didn't want to leave just yet. She wanted him to _know_ she was grateful for his cooperation. She just couldn't find the right words…

Fumbling with her clipboard and the various checklists, she avoided looking at him although she could feel his piercing gaze on her skin.

"Thank you, Mr Joker. I really appreciate what you did today," she tried to speak as clearly as possible, but her words probably came out as a mumble. He didn't reply.

Slowly, the doctor stood up and made her way for the door.

"Wait," groaned a harsh voice from the table.

She stopped in her tracks to look at him. The bright light coming from the tiny window on the wall behind him made it seem like he had a halo.

"You didn't tell me anything about yourself today."

She blinked.

"Is that the game you want to play now?"

"It is just fair, doctor. I wanna know who's prying my mind open."

She hesitated for a moment. Joker was right. It was only fair. Special treatment. It was just special treatment.

"I love cotton candy."

He chuckled, "Which one?"

"Doesn't matter. Baby blue or pink, they are both sweet."

It was a neutral enough answer. Nothing too personal, but it ticked the boxes.

"Anything you _hate_? Except for horny car repair dealers?" he added, flashing her his silver grin with eyes alight with pure amusement.

She frowned, tugging on her lab coat self-consciously. He would probably never let that one go. She slowly replied.

"Pools and beaches."

"Huh?"

"I can't swim."

He let out a high pitched cackle: "Are you _serious_? You've passed a med school but couldn't learn how to swim?"

She threw him a look from across the room as he shook his head.

"I got it, I got it. Sorry."

The young blonde gave him a half smile before turning to signal to the guards outside to lift the bar locks.

"See you next week, Mr Joker."

"See you, sweet-tooth," he replied with a smirk in his voice.

With her hand on the intercom, she spoke softly from above her shoulder.

"Please. Do _not_ send me any cotton candy."

 **Fastest update yet! Thank you for all the follows/favourites and reviews guys. They mean a lot. I hope you liked this one, please let me know what you think!**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **ZeldaK**


	6. Mister J

Within the span of two months, Harleen Quinzel became a _somebody_. No longer was she a pretty-faced newbie, a wannabe psychiatrist to the worst of the worst. No. Those times were gone just like her way too narrow parking lot at the asylum's unkempt backyard. Now she had her own, newly whitened box reserved in the front, right opposite Dr Arkham's. Her pay check gained three figures overnight and the window in her office she had been complaining about ever since her arrival was finally fixed. She was even getting cheerful hellos from the well-respected senior doctors every Monday as she passed them on their way to weekly meetings.

She was aware she became an enigma, a young wonder-shrink who managed to stay on the "Clown Prince of Crime" case longer than any other professional in history.

Of course, Dr Arkham immediately took advantage of the circumstances and invited Gotham News to make an interview with the "woman behind Joker's steady recovery".

He spent half of the interview interrupting the camera-shy doctor with his inputs of how _he_ made sure she got the job and how he " _knew_ from the first moment she was the right choice, believe me!"

There were even talks of doing an interview with the laughing patient himself, an idea especially pushed forward by Arkham, but the asylum board led by an infuriated Bruce Wayne buried these hopes 12 feet under.

Dr Quinzel adapted to her new role, of course. The blonde realized very quickly she had to strike while the iron was hot if she wanted to take full advantage of her unexpected rise to fame. And famous she sure was. Suddenly, she was showered with offers of the best research grants in the States and international psychiatric associations were blowing up her phone to press her into at least considering a visit and giving a speech about her treatment of "violent psychopaths". Some of her university teachers and friends even called to congratulate her on her "fantastic achievements". It was safe to say she was beyond surprised. Happy, but very surprised. She had the field of psychiatry served on a silver platter and she hardly did anything to earn it.

Perhaps that was the part that worried her the most. Because as much as she tried to fake smiles and act pleased with all the new opportunities that awaited her, she knew it was all _undeserved_.

She was hardly curing the Joker. Sure, he agreed to do everything she asked and stuck to his side of the bargain with a surprising consistency. She had all the test scores and answers she could possibly want: he made no attempts to sabotage their sessions now.

And yet, she had no clue who she talked to every Friday afternoon. His madness still escaped her understanding, his plans, his thoughts, his desire to possess and destroy remained veiled to her. She might had been considered an enigma by the public, but _his mind_ was a far greater mystery.

Any attempt at therapy was doomed from the start. How could she cure him when she didn't know _what_ to cure?

Abstract. He was _so_ abstract _._

Yet at the same time, he was very _material_ to her. The more she met with the green haired mob boss from cell 14965, the more she felt like her world above the ground level of the hospital was just a hazy dream. Her _reality_ now lied within four padded walls.

She had no idea when she first began to feel that way. She knew though that every time she was getting cheers from her colleagues or envious glances from the other interns at the facility, in her heart she couldn't wait to be locked down and just left _alone_ with him.

The blonde pressed her eyes close.

Yes. Despite everything, there was something undeniably familiar about that pale man with his notorious rictus grin. She _knew_ his type, knew it like the palm of her hand. She grew up surrounded by loud men with gang tattoos and hidden revolvers in the pockets of their black suits. She passed their great cars in traffic jams on her way to school with her mum. She met them lounging in bars as a teenager, the smoky air filled with their arrogant laughs and occasional gun shot. Sometimes, they wolf-whistled on her and her giggling friends from the shadows of ran-down, abandoned buildings, their hard eyes illuminated by the light from their cigars.

Maybe then, _somewhere_ in a similar area, _similar_ avenue in Gotham City, the Joker had been smoking his own cigar, eying pretty girls exiting a club as he leaned across the hood of his expensive car. Or maybe he hadn't had an expensive car. Maybe he was a no one back then, his era of terror not yet begun.

She could almost smile as she visualised him, a boy from…The Narrows, perhaps? Maybe he hadn't even had the tattoos or the wild hair dye job at that time. Perhaps he was a regular young man from a slum, a guy with an absent father and a drug addicted mother who had to support himself since _ever_.

God knows whether he was insane back then too.

And perhaps just like her, he wanted the finer things in life. She could imagine him _obsessed_ with a high class life, the cash, his desire for the glitz and respect he saw those men in black suits and golden teeth receive everywhere they went. She suspected he joined some local gang at an early age and rose above his station soon after. _Can't keep a good man down._ And she was sure he was damn good at whatever thug business he had to do in those days.

And so, he was here now. With his pet hyenas, a purple Lamborghini, his gold jewellery, million dollar watches and perfectly coiffed hair.

He made it to the top. They both did.

He was the King of Gotham's underworld: a force only Batman dared to challenge.

She, well she was the current star of Gotham's psychiatry.

And they both had to crawl from dirt like cockroaches in order to get where they were now.

 _Yes_ , thought the blonde doctor as she moved to stand by her balcony and stare at the rain drops sliding down the window pane. Joker was a memory, one that was distant but still very colourful, very much alive. He _was_ Canarsie. And that was the one thing she desperately needed whenever she was too terrified to meet the scrutinising glances that followed her every step at the hospital.

He simply felt like _home._

…

It happened about two weeks later.

Dr Quinzel walked to her session on shaky legs, the clicking of her high heels echoing in the empty hallway together with her badly supressed sobs. _Oh_ , how could she go and face him now?

" _You think you are_ so _clever, don't you?"_

" _You mop around with your little doctor's badge, basking in the glory of your lucrative patients list…"_

"… _Do you think I don't know how exactly you got the job?"_

" _The Joker was_ mine! _"_

" _Of course, you are the_ head _girl of the moment in more sense than one…!"_

" _Be very careful, princess…"_

" _So tell me, who's the lucky guy: Dr Arkham? Or the Clown_ himself _!?"_

"… _but believe me, what goes around, comes around, Quinzel…"_

" _I don't know what game he's playing with you…..no chance of you winning."_

"… _Enjoy the fun while it lasts because one day, you'll enter that therapy room and you'll never come out!"_

" _Who do you think you are?!"_

"… _they will be washing your_ brain _off the walls!"_

Her voice. Her terrible, terrible voice that snarled _so_ many insults… She could hear them still, shouting at her inside her head.

Dr Leland.

 _Joan._

How _could_ she?

She blindly searched for the monitor and swiped her ID card across the screen. The gate buzzed and she was let into the Special Care Unit. There were no guards with her this time. She was coming to the session 10 minutes earlier. She just felt that if she wouldn't go in right _then and there_ , she would not be able to do it all…

The blonde wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand and pushed the cell door open with what she hoped was a nonchalant move.

Of course, he could tell something was off the moment his pale eyes searched her flushed face. It didn't take him long to make her talk. He had a gift for making people do that. He always got what he wanted, even from her. The young psychiatrist was aware of all this when she burst into tears for the second time that day right in front of her patient.

And as stupid as she knew it was, she recounted all her fears, all her pains and the bitter betrayal she felt in between heart-wrenching sobs. She couldn't calm down, not even after she told him everything Dr Leland accused her of in that atrium by the asylum's canteen.

She felt so _lonely_. So alienated and confused and the hot tears brought her the only relief.

Joker watched her for a long time with an unreadable expression on his unusually serious face. She almost missed his words as they drowned in the sound of her wails.

"What?" she croaked.

"I said she is not fit to tie your shoelaces. None of them are."

She let out a small breath as she slowly raised her head to squint at him through puffy eyes. She was certain she imagined it. And yet, the way he tilted his narrow face, offering her a small smile, a _genuine_ , _comforting_ smile… she had to believe it. Warmth spread across her tense body as she shakily returned the gesture. So he _could_ behumane after all…

"You know," he continued with his eyes rolled upwards to the cracked ceiling, "I was never truly appreciated in _my_ job either."

Her slumped shoulders froze. Did he just…?

Joker hummed before cracking a smile: "How does that saying go? It's the quite ones you gotta watch? Something like that. People are really fucking stupid!"

He laughed, but his amused expression soon turned into a scowl: "They always _underestimate,_ don't they? Thinking they're better, that they deserve things more than _you._ Well, that's when their downfall happens, isn't it, _doctor_? You don't _lose_ because your enemies get stronger. You lose when you start thinking you're _above_ them." He pierced her with an intense stare, face suddenly void of any emotion.

She could tell he was waiting for her reaction, but she was too surprised to say anything. She wiped away her tears awkwardly, gazing up at him with red-rimmed eyes. After all, his past had always been a taboo in their discussions. Joker only ever allowed her a glimpse at his more current affairs.

"So," she began in a shaky voice, her dry throat clenching painfully, "what did you do to prove them wrong?"

He didn't answer straight away. Lowering his eyes to meet hers ever so slowly, his mouth stretched into that silver-lined smirk she began to like so much.

"Oh I got _rid of_ them. Because the reality was that everything they _thought_ they could do, I could do _better_."

She suddenly felt very cold, her chest still heaving with silent sobs.

He let out a low chuckle, averting his gaze from her frail form. When he spoke again, she couldn't help but feel shivers running up her spine.

"Of course, I got into a bit of trouble after that. Made some _beginners' mistakes_ as you might call it. Self-control is not one of my strengths as you would know, doc! Anyway, it all escalated into a chase with a large Bat…,"

Her eyes widened like saucers. She couldn't _believe_ what she was hearing. _Bat_? Did he get _acquainted_ with Batman before he even became the King of Gotham?

"…followed by a little unexpected dip in a nasty liquid. Hence my beautiful looks," he added with a cackle, lifting his non-existent eyebrows at her stunned expression.

And in that moment, her exhausted heart swelled up with a sudden wave of profound and deep-running pity. Acid. He fell into acid.

It made sense in a way, she shuddered. There were so many rumours, so many versions of the story as to Joker's eccentric looks. Was it makeup? Did he have some sort of a rare skin condition?

However, she noticed the subtle bleached quality to his translucent skin the first time she sat her eyes on him, and knew there had to be more to it than what was whispered on the streets. Of course, she would had never guessed _this_ was truly the cause. Her chest tightened at the thought of aggressive chemicals burning away layers and layers of skin, dissolving the pigment and leaving behind a blanched canvas of alienation and misery. She could not even begin to _imagine_ the amount of pain and confusion he must had gone through when he emerged… Was that the moment when he tipped over the edge of his sanity?

As if hearing her thoughts, he gave her a smirk before scolding her: "Oh don't make me into a _victim_ , Dr Quinzel. You see, it was a touch of fate. At least that's how I see it. Unpleasant but necessary to build _character_. Pain is a wonderful thing. Instrument of gods."

She was so immersed in digesting his twisted philosophy that she hadn't noticed Joker's grinning face creep towards her from across the table.

"Don't let _them_ tell you what you can or cannot do, doll face. The world is in the palm of your hand and it's only up to you whether you take it or not. It's all your choice. Just like it was mine."

She looked up into his deep blue eyes in amazement. His face had never seemed more beautiful to her than in that one, fleeting moment. Her anguish, her hurt were suddenly all gone and forgotten. She knew then he _was_ trying to comfort her all along.

Feeling moved, the young doctor gave her patient a small, heartfelt smile: "Thanks, Mister J."

The grin he gave her then was the proudest, the most _manic_ she had ever seen on him. He loved it! He loved that name!

And as his cackling filled the stuffy air around them and her heart soared at his approval, she knew she had been right before:

He truly _was_ home.

 **...**

 **And there you have it: the first time Harleen fell a little bit in love with her grinning patient.** **Once again, a huge thank you for all the feedback, especially to you great people that left a review! I could not keep a smile off my face as I read your kind words. I am very, very happy that you like this story!**

 **So thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you thought!**

 **ZeldaK**


	7. Romancing

"You like it?" the blonde asked with a smile, fiddling nervously with the bow on her new, red silk blouse.

Joker hummed before continuing to shovel the contents of a small plastic box into his hungry mouth.

"You are too kind to me, Doctor. Vanilla is my favourite."

Harleen watched him in amusement. She knew the staff was forbidden to supply anything to the patients, but when she once made a bit too many blueberry muffins on one of her spontaneous Saturday night "baking fevers", she thought he might appreciate an extra treat in between the ghastly Arkham meals. And when he gave her the bright smile of a boy in a candy store, she sort of fell into the habit of _accidentally_ putting too much flour into all of her cake mixtures.

Apple tarts, chocolate cookies, iced cakes, Victoria sponges and when he mentioned last time that he was rather fond of puddings, she wasted no time to buy some moulds. After all, he was even more cheerful and open to her assessment when he had something sweet to chew on. She even persuaded him into actually _taking_ his medications instead of the never ending fights with the nurses and having most of the substances forced fed to him while he was almost paralysed by a tranquilizer…

"I'm…glad you like it." A curt nod before the repeated clatter of a spoon began echoing in the room once more. She averted her desperate glance to her hands, focusing on how the nail polish shined underneath fluorescent lights. She didn't know what more to tell him then. She picked up on the fact he hated talking while he ate very quickly.

To her joy, he soon dropped the cutlery and pushed the empty container in her direction with a big smile.

"Thanks again, doll face. It was delicious as always. You are the _best_ shrink I had so far, you know that right?" Harleen gave him a warm smile before swiftly collecting the box with a familiar blush creeping on her cheeks. He had been telling her that for a while now but the butterflies in her stomach never failed to re-appear.

"Now, how are you feeling this week, Mister J?"

He raised his non-existent eyebrows with a knowing smirk: "If you are thinking about doing that hypnosis thing again, Dr Quinzel, I can assure you no amount of vanilla puddings will make me go to _that_ room again. I think I will suffer from claustrophobia for the rest of my life thanks to that one miserable afternoon with Jerry."

That made her chuckle. Doctor Arkham should be warned.

"I can completely understand. It's not the best room, but I thought it was really quiet so it was perfect for-"

"Oh, it was very quiet and very _dark_ and _stuffy_ too. No, forget it, Doc-tor. Ain't happening again," Joker asserted before settling his amused gaze on her smiling face again. "Congratulations on getting us _this_ one, though. These pretty tiles and cream coloured walls and…is that an oak wood cabinet behind you? Well, it _is_ a nice break from that rat hole they call a cell in this place," he mused before adding with slight distaste, "although…with all the _private_ funding, one would think ol' Jerry could _afford_ to go on a little splurge with the furnishings on _all_ levels of this little asylum hierarchy."

Harleen shook her blonde head with an entertained smirk. He was such a _prince_ sometimes.

"Well, apologies for not being able to accommodate your lavish and expensive tastes, Mister Joker. This _is_ a prison, however. It's not supposed to be _pleasant."_

"Ha! In that case they shouldn't be hiring such beautiful angels like yourself, Doctor _Quinzel_. You sure are making my stay here extremely _pleasant_." He watched with growing grin as she began to squirm. Before she could collect herself, he added deviously: "And I am not that high-maintenance as you make it sound. When I get out of here, you are very welcome to come around to my house and see for yourself."

 _Oh_ , Harleen thought with a sigh once again. He could be _so_ charming when he wanted.

"Is Doctor Arkham getting an invite too?"

"Jerry? Oh, his invite is _long_ due. He will be very welcome to bow his head as I put a hole in it. There's a gold 0.357 bullet with his name on it waiting on my nightstand."

Harleen winced. She had no idea whether he was joking again or not but the sudden drop in his tone made her very uncomfortable. Clearing her throat, she quickly pointed out: " _When? '_ When' you get out of here? You meant ' _if'_ , surely. I am keeping a very close eye on you, Mister J. There is _no way_ I am going to let you jeopardize my attempt at curing you for good. You're staying _here_ until I'm done with you."

The green haired man just laughed. "Aw, doctor," he cooed as he leant towards her with a huge smile, " _curing_ me? I see you still haven't given up on this _crazy_ thought of yours!"

"Never," the blonde replied decidedly, folding her hands in her lap with a small smile.

"So you believe it is possible?" Joker teased with a chuckle. "Are you satisfied with our little chats and the effect those tiny, colourful lentils have on my _insane_ mind? You've _cracked_ my case, doc, is that what you're saying?"

"I am very happy with your progress, Mister J. What? Aren't you proud of your achievements yourself?" He gave her a long look before snorting once again. She adjust her glasses and continued with even more vigour. "The guards report on you, Mister J. I have heard it all! You are calmer, behave well enough to be allowed to visit the common room area _and_ you haven't gotten into a fist fight with any of the wardens in more than a month-"

"Has it been _that_ long now?" Joker interrupted with a mock surprise. "I better shatter Bill's ribs again this evening then. The boys in black seem to be forgetting who they're dealing with."

He made fun of her but she didn't mind. Her therapy was a success and everyone in the asylum could see that. Arkham, the other interns, even Joan Leland. She could tell by the sour scowl on the senior doctor's face whenever she passed her in the hallway. Her brown eyes were no longer scornful: just incredibly envious.

" _And_ ," she moved on, ignoring his jabs, "I am confident you will make even greater improvements in the future. I _knew_ we would find a common ground eventually, Mister J. I told you before: I always wanted to treat you. I was and still _am_ positive I can do it. The others,…" she paused suddenly as she noticed his widened eyes follow her every movement with a small, unnerving smile plastered on his red lips. "Yes?" he purred. "The others..?"

She gulped. "The other therapists just didn't… _get you_. They could never understand… I mean, I am not saying _I_ understand everything what goes on in your head but… I think, well. Those before me, just didn't really _want_ to understand you. But I do. I _want_ to help you. I am _not_ going to shy away from you. No matter what you ever confess to me, Mister J. I am here for you. Always." The blonde felt like she couldn't bear his intense gaze any longer but she made the point of staring right back at his suddenly very concentrated face just to prove she meant _every_ word. At least, she hoped he _would_ see that. After a while, Joker relaxed in his seat again and let out a low chuckle.

"You crack me up, doctor." She frowned.

"I feel like I should propose to you after this speech. _Always here for you._ You're good. _So_ good." He held her questioning glance for a little longer before laughing in her face again.

"You don't believe me?" the blonde pressed, but her voice faltered a bit. After everything she had done for him, after what they had been through together, how could he _not_ believe she cared?

She was left outside in the cold. And it _hurt_.

She looked up slowly when she felt Joker's pale eyes on her face again. He was thinking, thinking feverishly. She could tell by the way he held his shoulders, the way in which he stuck out the tip of his tongue to touch his upper lip.

She knew him better than he gave her credit for. He needed her. Not just for vanilla puddings and joke-filled sessions before the weekends. She would make him better. He just needed to _let her in_. And she was not giving up on that, ever. He deserved more.

"Well," the pale man in question interrupted her thoughts, "We shall _see_ , won't we?"

Harleen opened her mouth in confusion.

She was about to say something when he gave her his best silver-lined smile and murmured smoothly: "At any rate, Doctor, I think we are in _good graces_ with each other. I _really_ like you. Not sure about the progress bit, we will forever disagree on the fact. Mainly because I don't think I need psycho help in the first place, but then again, I ain't got an MD like you clever girl. So, I appreciate your efforts. I really do." First, she thought he was mocking her again but when he remained silent and stared at her with a straight face, she had to let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Mister J. It's my pleasure, really," she said with a smile before quickly adding, "I mean, it's my job."

If he had thought anything of it, he did not show it. He just gave her another grin before lifting his pale hands for her to see. They were beautiful, elegant even. It seemed rather horrifying to her that he usually used them to crash someone's windpipe or to pull a trigger and empty a whole barrel into one unfortunate skull.

"I still haven't thanked you for these. I guess that was a great sign of mutual _understanding_ , am I right doctor?" She followed his dancing fingers with her eyes, suddenly feeling very alert. Yes, she had successfully persuaded Arkham to let Joker out of his straight jacket a few weeks ago.

He told her she was mad. And as she watched the wild gleam in Mister J's hard eyes, she thought for a moment that she might very well be.

Somehow, Harleen lost her voice so she just nodded. He chuckled. "Well, I am very _happy_ about how that turned out. Free hands, free man. Now I can finally _do_ what I wanted to ever since I laid eyes on you, _doctor_."

Her breath got hitched somewhere in her constricting throat as she half-rose from the plush chair, preparing to dart towards the door in the slightest hint of trouble.

But Joker just slowly raised his right hand and covered his jaw. Harleen's eyes widened. Instead of Mister J's smirk, all she could see was a grotesque tattoo of large, red lips stretched into a gigantic smile that showcased an impressive array of pearly white teeth.

"A pretty smile for a pretty girl," he purred, never tearing his gaze away from her confused face.

Catching up on the joke, the blonde doctor laughed. "You've smiled at me before, Mister J."

"No," he said as he leant towards her. "This one," he pointed to his own grinning lips, "is not the best one, it's _damaged."_ He ran his red tongue across the silver-capped teeth for a demonstration.She watched in amusement as he then brought his hands between them again, admiring the red tattoo. " _This_ one though, this one is perfect. Like _you_."

…..

Laughter. He heard it again.

Exchanging a look with his companion, Officer Bolt gripped the taser gun tighter in his calloused hands. He had noticed the changes. They baffled him to no end.

The high spirits before every session. The way her cheeks glowed and her blue eyes sparkled whenever she emerged from that room, _smiling_ back over her shoulder. It gave him chills. How could she be so _thrilled_ to spend time with that sociopathic freak? He was the public enemy number one for Christ's sake!

He could not believe it. And he was positive not even the blonde doctor realised what was happening.

Henry Bolt pressed his lips. He had always thought she was far too young for the job anyway. Too young and too pretty to wilt away in those cold corridors like a flower without sunlight. Not to mention the patient she spent most of her time with was positively _toxic_. Always was and always would be. He had no degree in this field, but Bolt was certain the grinning psychopath was _beyond_ rehabilitation. There was something about the way he would pierce you with that pair of aloof, calculating eyes that chilled to the bone. Bolt shuddered at the memory. _Eyes are the window to the soul._ And from what he knew, Joker had none.

He would look at you, look as if he was searching for _something_ in you. What it was though, Bolt had no idea. All he knew was that Joker would dissect you like a moth under a looking glass, slowly putting together every piece of the puzzle, tying some invisible strings between this and that. He studied you as if you were an object in a museum, as if you were not a living thing at all, just a chess piece. That's what people were to Joker, Bolt knew. Just pawns. And he would observe and notice and save your every move, word or a glance in some special box in his memory until one day, after one involuntary twitch on your part, one smile or a shrug, something in his sick mind _clicked_. His mouth would stretch into that slow, _fucked up_ grin of his and you'd know you were screwed because he got you there. He got you _all figured out_.

Bolt gave out a deep sigh and leaned against the tiled wall. _Ready to use and abuse,_ he snorted. He was just _vile_. All crime bosses were, but Joker, well he was something _else._ He didn't murder, mutilate, blackmail or torture just to keep his illicit activities going. He did that because he enjoyed it.

 _Mad as a rabid dog_ , thought the senior officer. And now he had an inexperienced, young mind there to prey on.

After another echo of laughter reached his ears, Bolt's wrinkled face hardened into a determined scowl.

 _Something had to be done._

…

 **First of all, I hope you are all having wonderful holidays! Thank you so much for your follows/favourites and reviews, I appreciate every single one of them. Hope you enjoyed this chapter as well. Also, I just wanted to announce that I've edited two chapters,** _ **Crowbar**_ **and** _ **Mister J –**_ **no huge changes plot wise, but just in case you would be interested I added and rewrote some parts of the dialogue. I think it flows better now. This is my first fanfic ever, so I am definitely in the learning process still, haha.**

 **At any rate, thanks for reading my work and let me know what you think about this new chapter! I'll see you all in 2017 and have a fantastic NYE!**

 **Love,**

 **ZeldaK**


	8. Gentle Soul

**Note: I am very sorry for this super-late update!**

 **Hope you are all still with me.**

* * *

 _I am moved by fancies that are curled_

 _Around these images, and cling:_

 _The notion of some infinitely gentle_

 _Infinitely suffering thing._

 _-T. S. Eliot_

The young blonde slipped her way along the ice covered side-walk to the gate of her apartment block. As she fumbled with the keys that got stuck in the way-too-small pocket of her trench coat, she chanced a look at the inky sky above. It was the usual, star-less February evening in Gotham. The chilly air was crisp on her face and her cheeks so frost bitten that she couldn't even feel the gentle touch of snowflakes that danced around her in a soft winter breeze. Had she been able to ignore the drunken shouts, cursing and distant dog barks that formed a natural part of her slightly dodgy but still tolerably safe neighborhood, it would had been a magical night. _Well, almost magical_ , thought Harleen wretchedly as she pushed at the old hinges and entered a circular shaped front yard. She guessed she'd need more than magic to fix what she had done. Maybe a full blown miracle.

 _Never mind. We figured._

Harleen gulped past the lump in her throat. She'd really done it this time. There was no way back.

Passing the bare bushes of briar-rose and brambleberry covered in a thin layer of snow, she was met with the gingham dress of old Mrs Spencer who was currently hovering over a little row of azaleas. Harleen knew she was checking the temperature inside the blanket-like sack she'd put over her beloved flowers. The pensioner threw Harleen's slim legs in sheer nylons and stiletto-heels a disapproving look before wiping her muddied hands on the apron. "Look at ye, missy! Upon my word, if ye haven't caught pneumonia t'day my name's not Susan Spencer! What were ya thinkin', walkin' around like that in this godforsaken weather? By God's nightgown, if I were yer mother..."

"Good evening to you too, Mrs Spencer," the blonde replied with a sad smile. She felt too low to even acknowledge the older woman's ravings. Harleen carried the large grocery bags over the threshold before chasing after an escaped tomato with an apologetic look as it landed by Mrs Spencer's arthritic feet.

"Silly piece of wo'k," the old woman muttered under her nose as she watched the blonde's retreating back, "The looney house is clearly messing with yer head."

…

 _Chop-Chop_. The repetitive sound of a knife hitting the cutting board felt like music to Harleen's ears. Manoeuvring in the small but homey-looking kitchen, she gathered the cut bits of fresh tomatoes and popped them into the sauce pan followed by crushed basil, black olives and garlic. Tomato puree. That was the only thing she was missing. The young doctor walked towards the light kitchen cabinet, hands hovering above the numerous goods stored there.

Almonds. Soy sauce. Canned peaches. Tuna tins. Cocoa powder. _Vanilla puddings_.

Harleen halted. Her fingers trembled as she gently reached for the sachet, tracing the decorative picture with a fond smile.

Oh, if only they knew him how she did...

...

" _Ooooh, look at that!" Joker purred excitedly as the glowing blonde opposite him proudly presented her hand. "Royal flush, Mister J."_

" _Shady lady. How did ya get that, huh? You're hiding some cards up your sleeve, aren't you Doctor Quinzel?"_

 _The blonde psychiatrist just shook her head with a smile: "Now don't be a sore loser, Mister J. Although," she added teasingly, "I have to admit I thought it'd be a lot harder to beat_ you _at cards."_

 _Joker's lips stretched into a devious grin before he ran a hand through his freshly colored hair_ _: "Oh believe me, had you agreed to playing that strip poker like I wan'ed, there would had been_ zero _chance of you winning, doll face."_

 _..._

Harleen sighed softly, closing the cabinet with the tomato puree tin in her hand.

Yes. Maybe if they really _knew_ him, that would had changed things.

 _Never mind. We figured._

She felt a new pang in her chest. The cold words seemed to be permanently burned into her retina no matter how hard she tried not to dwell on them.

 _But she_ will _go_ , she resolved with a set jaw after adding a pinch of salt and black pepper to the sizzling mixture.

The next time Cathy or Sheila ask her, she w _ill go._

The blonde shut her eyes close in frustration. It wasn't as if she _didn't_ want to see them anyway. She just didn't have the time! All she had, she gave up for... _him._

Harleen swallowed, her throat painfully dry. It was true. When she wasn't _with_ Mister J, she was thinking of him. Always trying to find out more, to get to know him better. She analysed him from distance, from her car, her bed, her shower, recalling his every move, every whisper and purr that escaped his ever-grinning mouth. She was aware her life revolved around constant note checking, book consulting and digging up old police records. She shouldn't be doing that to herself, she knew, but her life seemed to be spinning out of control these days. She had no power over her own thoughts anymore and although her behaviour probably bordered on compulsion, she couldn't put a stop to it. Mister J's treatment simply was her priority.

Wasn't that the way it was supposed be, though? She _had_ to take her job seriously after all. Being a psychiatrist was a great responsibility and...

 _Or maybe it was an obsession_. At least that's what her mom had called it.

Harleen sighed. She knew Therese Quinzel would had _definitely_ liked to further voice her opinion on the subject but her only daughter hardly even found time to listen to her many voice messages. Harleen's chest clenched at the thought even now.

Her mom kept inviting her to come back to Canarsie for a weekend. Saying that she and Nan missed her, that it had been too long.

It probably was.

She couldn't even remember the last time she saw her family apart for those two rushed days back in December. She barely settled down for a Christmas Eve dinner and Boxing Day before heading back to Gotham. She'd promised Mister J that she'd come for a visit. She simply didn't have the heart to leave him there, all alone at the asylum for a whole week. It was Christmas season after all…She didn't tell her mother that, of course. She had never understood her career choice in the first place, let alone her ditching family time for someone like Mister J. " _He's a_ psycho _, baby! What do you mean you want to see him?"_ Harleen could almost hear the would-be family argument in her head.

No. Her mom could just never understand the importance...the _importance_ of it all.

But her girls were not like her mom…

Harleen forced her eyes shut. They used to be so excited, so happy for her. _I knew you'd make it, Harls!, w_ as Sheila's ready answer after the overjoyed congratulations and laughs. Cathy even welled-up. And she had promised them that day that she would keep them up-to-date about everything. That she would divulge all the information she was allowed to share under doctor-patient confidentiality over a glass of red wine somewhere in the fashionable establishments in the luxurious part of Gotham. They could only afford to go to such places on special occasions and her scoring the sole right to the treatment of the city's most infamous crime lord certainly fell under that category. But the celebratory dinner never happened.

 _October_ , Harleen thought as she worried her lip. That was the last time she saw them. That amounted to more than five months of turning down all their attempts to reach out to her. No talks about her progress with the Clown Prince of Crime. No lunches or coffee, no shopping, no clubbing till their feet hurt and their heads felt dizzy. No time for their troubles, joys or their own internships at the East Gotham Psychiatric Hospital. And worst of all there were those missed calls and missed birthdays followed by shitty excuses and frantic promises of the "next time" that never came.

Harleen slowly stirred the marinara sauce, tears threatening to fall right into the pan in front of her. There was no way back now, no matter how many times she'd apologise in her regret-filled messages. She knew, she _felt_ she was no longer a part of their tight knit circle, a circle that had survived five years of university life. The fact that their "How are you" texts got scarcer and scarcer was a proof enough. And it was all her fault.

A single, hot tear found its way down her cheek, reddened from the kitchen heat. If only they could _meet_ him! If they'd known what he was _really_ like, they could understand. The Joker _was_ curable, no matter what everyone else said. And he was _different_. So different from what everyone else took him for…

...

 _The green haired man watched with pure amusement as the blonde flushed scarlet, hesitantly mirrored his stance across the wooden table._

" _You really need to stop saying such things, Mister J. Someone might get the wrong idea."_

" _Maybe. Is it really that bad though when one only speaks the truth?" he coaxed with a slow smile. Harleen couldn't help it but trace his narrow face with keen eyes as she had done many times before. The sharp curve of his cheekbones, the elegant shape of his nose. The sly, cruel lips that spoke kind words only for her... So close, so close…_

 _She could feel the heat of his body, smelled the cheap asylum soap that clung to his translucent skin. She even caught the sickly sweet scent of his medication every time he exhaled with a low growl. All this mixed with something warm, something spicy and vigorous that she came to recognize as simply being_ _ **him**_ _._

 _It was by far her favorite smell. It calmed her down, reassured her that he was really there, that those moments they spent together in cold, grey therapy rooms were not just a figment of her imagination. And as she looked up to meet his piercing gaze, she felt her heart clench with a desperate desire to know if he thought their time together was a dream sometimes too…_

 _..._

Yes. If they had _met_ him, they would had seen why it was so crucial to invest so much energy into Mister J's treatment. Her private life, her social life… what were _those_ in comparison to the possibility of _curing_ the notoriously deranged gangster who had his own street name tattooed on his abdomen?

He was worth it. It was _all_ worth it, she could feel it in her humming heart. And yet...

There were those _reminders_ , those constant, sharp pangs of guilt that plagued her conscience and proved just how _alone_ she had really become in the course of her pursuit.

Harleen sighed, digging the heels of her hands to her red rimmed eyes.

 _Greater good._

All she had sacrificed was for the greater good of Gotham and the discipline of psychiatry.

If only the girls would realise that, if only her mom could see…

They would had forgiven her.

...

" _Do that again," she asked softly, desperately hoping to break the silence that both terrified and excited her._

" _What?" he whispered back._

" _Smile like..._ that _."_

 _He threw her a questioning glance but couldn't help but grin at her transfixed face._

 _The blonde laughed softly: "Has anyone ever told you, you look like the Cheshire Cat, Mister J?"_

 _His smirk only grew larger. "Maybe. Did you finally get lost in your madness, Alice?"_

" _I'm not the one who's mad, Mister J."_

" _Oh yes, you are," he chuckled lowly._

 _Harleen started to feel dizzy. Everything about that moment between them in that dim room was surreal, so_ strange _and contradictory and yet, it somehow all felt as natural as breathing…_

 _She barely recognized her own voice echoing in the silence as she quoted the children's book: "How do you know I'm mad?"_

 _Joker's red lips stretched into another rictus grin but she could only see the hundreds of long, pale eyelashes that lined his half closed eyelids. She could had counted them all, they were so close. So close..._

" _Oh, you_ must _be. Otherwise you wouldn't have come here."_

* * *

 **F** **irst of all, apologies again for not updating for almost two months! Guess you've probably all forgotten what even happened in the previous chapters. I arrived at a bit of a "fork on the road" with this story and had to rework my plans for future chapters, hence all the silent planning and no uploads.**

 **But I really hope you liked this new chapter: things will start getting sticky now…**

 **The second half of this story is approaching, ladies and gentlemen. Harleen, run. Run while you still can!**

 **I would like to say a huge THANK YOU to all those who followed/favorited** _ **Sick Rose**_ **, it means a lot. I would especially like to thank those amazing people who made the end of 2016 very sweet by leaving a review:** **your mom, Deadly Sapphire, KillerJack, Guest** **and a BIG shout out** **to Anise and ReginaSlytherin (love the name btw)!** **Your incredibly long and detailed reviews really left me so, so happy (and blushing). So thank you for taking the time to write them and deciding to let me know how much you like this story. I hope I will continue to deliver.**

 **So thanks for reading everyone, I really appreciate your support.**

 **Hope you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a review to let me know what you think!**

 **Love,**

 **ZeldaK**


	9. Playing Favourites

The silence in the group therapy room on Level 2 was deafening. The blonde doctor recognised it as her cue to say something and stirred from her reverie with a very bad feeling that she'd just missed something _very_ important.

She pushed up her glasses with a shaking finger, already feeling the ugly red spots spread all over her face and neck.

"Uhm, maybe-"

"Ya never listen these days, Doc, you kno' that?"

"Excuse me, I w-"

"Dr Quinzel was just telling me before our session that she wants me to try and lead the therapy today. It was very kind of her to give me this opportunity and I hope you can all take something away from our time together this morning. I have to say you are all making _fantastic_ progress. Shall we call it day then? Mr Staffort, maybe you could come see Doctor Ruthland about that nightly sweating and breathing problems? Perhaps she needs to lower your dosage of Clozaril. I'll send a nurse for you after the cell check-up at 11."

Relief washed over the blonde in waves as she listened to the shuffling of half a dozen straight-jackets being escorted out of the stuffy room. It was one of the old, un-renovated offices where they used to hold seminars for Anonymous Alcoholics a couple years ago. The colourful, awkward drawings of the patients' children that still hung on the yellow walls gave the place an utterly grotesque feeling. The blonde felt embarrassed to the bone but was incredibly grateful to her colleague who was currently eyeing her with sympathy from her place by a particularly unappealing portrayal of a sunflower.

"Are you alright, Harleen?"

Her pink face stretched into a heartfelt smile: "Thanks a lot Lucille. That was an impressive save, I gotta tell you." The other woman chuckled. "Although it doesn't excuse my behaviour… I am very sorry," Harleen began tentatively. "It's just…I just have a lot of things on my mind right now…, I quite frankly zoned out."

 _That's a fat lie_ , thought the young doctor as she almost cringed in her seat. There had only been one thing on her mind for the past few weeks, but she could had never admitted it out loud.

"Oh I know," replied the brunette kindly, her eyes twinkling as she approached her fellow intern with a re-assuring smile on her berry-toned lips. "You have all the right to feel overwhelmed, Harls."

"Yeah?" she laughed nervously.

"Obviously! You must be so tired, I tell you it's a whole load you're carrying."

The blonde fidgeted slightly, sensing the conversation was about to turn to the one person she really didn't want to discuss in that moment. But the thinly veiled excitement in the brunette's hazel eyes already told her that an escape was impossible.

"I mean, _he_ cannot be easy. I haven't been here for long but…. I've heard all the stories, you know? The ones about what happened to his previous therapists, what he did _to_ them. It's rather fascinating, don't you think? For example that Swiss doctor who specialised in hydrotherapy. A nurse told me he drowned himself in one of the baths two days after resigning from the position. Or that other woman who ran off after a week and checked herself at the High Meadows clinic a couple miles outside the city. I think Dr Arkham once mentioned she hasn't practiced psychiatry ever since."

The blonde stared at the moving, rosebud mouth of her colleague but couldn't register any of her words. It all faded into a buzz, an indistinguishable rambling about "burn out", "exploitation of the mind", "dominance" and "disturbed psyche". What Harleen was acutely aware of though was her increasingly more rapid breathing and quickened pulse that drummed in her ears as she clutched at the flashcards in her lap until her knuckles turned white.

"…but you survived for this long!" the girl laugh, searching the blonde's reaction from the corner of her eye, "I mean, most of them quit after the first session. How many months has it been for you exactly?" Lucille beamed, her cheeks flushed scarlet.

Harleen's mouth felt like sandpaper as she forced a reply of ' _I hardly know'_ before the brunette in front of her uttered something that made all colour drain from her face.

 _Maybe I could help you with him sometime._

No.

No, no, no, this was _not happening_ , not happening…

"…could take some much needed rest. Psychopaths are poisonous after all. They suck the life right out of you, we all know that. And we _all_ admire you for sticking with him for this long. Even Dr Leland, you know. Although I know you two don't like each other very much," the younger woman laughed carelessly again, unaware of the shaking shoulders of the blonde opposite her. "She was very kind to me though. I have to thankful for that. Showed me some of Joker's files in her office, the ones she got to keep after you replaced her. I-I think I would be able to handle a few sessions with him. If you allowed that, of course. It would really help me with doctorate res-"

Something of the blonde's inner turmoil must had showed on her face because the young brunette trailed off until she just stared at the other doctor with brows furrowed in confusion.

"Harleen, are y-"

" _Don't_. Don't _ever_ suggest anything like _that_ again."

Utterly shocked, the brunette watched in horror as the woman's stiff frame rose from the chair and crept towards her with a pair of blazing, unblinking eyes set in a face of stone.

"H-Harleen?"

"You know _nothing_."

By the time the girl's white lips formed into a soundless 'O', the young blonde was already half across the room, yanking the metal door open to a pitiful screeching of old hinges.

She left without another word.

* * *

Heavy footsteps reverberated from cold, damp walls before their sound was drowned by two voices fighting for dominance.

"This _cannot_ go on like this."

"Mr Wayne, I-"

"Don't _Mr Wayne_ me, Arkham! This is absolutely ridiculous. It's been 2603 dollars for this month only!" thundered the deep, rumbling voice of a tall, well-built stranger in a dark suit.

"But he was adamant that he would have-"

"I don't _care_ about what that _freak_ wants or asks for! Do you even understand who you have under locks here? This is a maximum security prison facility, Doctor! I repeat, _prison_ facility!"

"With all due respect, Mr Wayne, I don't need you telling me what this asylum stands for! This institution is _my_ family heritage as you well know, and from _this_ reason-"

"And from _that_ reason it's _you_ who should be adamant about keeping up the standards here! I don't think your great grand-father would have been too pleased to know you're running errands for a madman in your care."

"I do not!" spurted the sweating doctor with hurt pride, "I don't do anything beyond what is necessary to keep him as pliant as possible! It's a matter of _security_ , I told you that."

"With a generous selection _of six_ Dutch pastriesand an _Oreo McFlurry_ forbreakfast? A 280 dollar kobe steak with truffle sauce, oysters from that ridiculously over-priced place in the Old Marina, vanilla milkshakes, salmon sashimi, Thai food take-outs, and M-… _Macallan_ _Select Reserve_ with every dinner!?"

"Ok, _that one_ came from his own house! Same as those silk pyjama bottoms, I would have _never_ wasted the asylum funds on that!"

"Oh so now he even gave you his keys so you can get him all the comforts of home he could possibly ask for, didn't he? Have you lost your _mind_ , Arkham? This man is toying with you!"

"Enough! Enough," cried the willowy doctor in desperation, chest heaving. "It's hopeless. _Hopeless_ to fight with him! You have _no_ idea what he does….the things he _says,_ it's just, jus-… _un-bearable_!Everyone is on edge, I only have a handful of guards actually willing to patrol the ground level. And I have to pay them double! They can't _stand_ him. No one can. I lost half of my medical staff ever since he started frequenting this place. Can you _imagine_ what that feels like? He tears this institution, _my institution,_ down piece by piece every time he lands here, and I'll be damned if I just watch that happen! If a glass of whiskey and some BigMacs silence the dirt that pours out of his mouth even _just_ for a moment, let him have them! Who knows, maybe one day the booze just won't mix well with his meds and he'll do everyone a favour and just _drop dead_!"

Dark brown eyes flashed at the statement. With face upturned to observe the mildew forming in the corner of the damp ceiling, the tanned man growled: "Careful, Arkham. Murder is murder. Ends _don't_ justify the means. They never do."

The doctor scoffed, wiping away the sweat that formed on his forehead. "I'm not sure anymore. Not after him."

The two men stood in silence for a while, each contemplating the other's words.

A troubled sigh was heard before the deep voice of Bruce Wayne echoed in the corridor once more. "Is he then on his own now?"

"No. Joan was on him for a while, she is very stubborn. Fearless woman but she didn't make a dent. It was a complete waste of time and resources."

"So he _is_ alone?" pressed the billionaire.

After what felt like ages, the doctor hesitantly wetted his thin lips, weighting each word in his mouth as if afraid he'd send the man opposite him into blind rage once more: "N-no, not exactly. We-…I put someone new on him, perhaps you've caught it in the media a while back? A girl...she's our intern. Harleen. Her name's Harleen Quinzel. Top grades and letters of recommendation from her university, she even did her thesis on-"

"What do you mean Arkham? An intern? She's not even fully qualified and you let her handle _him_?"

"She's been cleared, alright? Besides, he seems to _respond_ to her. I don't know what she does with him but it works. He is like…I've never seen him like this before. I swear to you, Mr Wayne: apart from his usual…. _extravagancies_ , a few fights and those high bills, he's actually in the most pleasant mood I've seen him in! They must have clicked somehow… I mean, he even asked for her to be his therapist at the beginning. He had _never_ requested doctors before."

"And that doesn't sound suspicious to you at all?"

"What?"

"I want to see her."

"I-... that won't be possible. She's not here today, I'm afraid."

"Well, I am perfectly happy to return any other day to talk to this woman."

Heavy silence spread across the empty corridor.

"I-I don't know if that's such a good idea, Mr Wayne. I don't want to scare her, she has never met anyone from the asylum board. She might freak out she's doing something wrong, that we're breathing on her neck-"

"Are you saying I can't have a word with a person I basically pay the checks for?"

"I'm saying all you might want to know about Dr Quinzel is in her staff files and I'm sure Janet will be happy to show you around our HR department," quipped Arkham whilst squaring his shoulders, as if awaiting a blow for his unexpectedly brave response. When the brooding man didn't show any signs of reproach, the doctor visibly relaxed, regaining some of that authoritative tone he'd lost the moment the wealthiest man in Gotham came barging through his office door some 40 minutes ago.

"She's doing her job well, Mr Wayne. I don't want to jeopardize that. Neither do you, I'm sure."

A short pause followed before something shifted in the air once more.

"No," the deep voice answered quizzically, "no, I suppose I don't."

Silence.

"How many times did he escape exactly?"

"What do you-?"

"I said how many times did Joker escape this facility. Three? Four times?"

Doctor Arkham stared at the dark man with pure confusion etched on his aging face. Bruce Wayne was not deterred.

"I want you to think hard about what I'm about to tell you right now: if that homicidal freak gets out of here _one_ more time, you will find it _very_ difficult to finish your modernisation plans once the Wayne Corp. Medical Funding runs dry. Because a fifth breakout would sound very disgraceful, Jeremiah. Five times may happen in regular prisons, but _here_ , at Arkham Asylum? That would stink like an inside job, don't you think? And I know _just_ the man who'd fit the description of Joker's potential accomplice once the government comes knocking."

The man paled to the point he almost matched his lab coat.

" _Or_ … you could start keeping an eye on that girl. _I don't like her._ "

* * *

What _the hell_ was wrong with her?

Harleen stood in the dimly lit staff bathroom on shaky legs, desperately trying to get that morning conversation out of her head. The cold water didn't help, nor did the 3 hours spent in her office where she forced herself to review and sign all her patient reports from Section A as a form of punishment. She only had to come across some of Joker's old medical reports in the asylum archives and she lost it again.

Why did she react like that? What was going through her _mind_?

She chewed on her thumbnail, desperately trying to avoid looking at the flushed blonde in the dirty mirror.

The fact was that Lucille didn't deserve such a biting retort.

How could she blame her for wanting to have a minute with Gotham's most wanted criminal? Psychopathy was fascinating to many psychiatric minds, especially when coupled with _his_ level of self-adoration and genius intelligence. Despite what Lucille said, Harleen knew they still were many doctors willing to take the risk and try to treat Arkham's most lethal patient. She herself was shook to her core that she got to be his therapist even after all those months!

How could she forget her own feelings of excitement when it came to Mister J and what he represented?

Or maybe she _didn't_ forget about her feelings at all…

Harleen sighed, cautiously looking up to meet her ashamed reflection in the eye.

She was _furious_ in that room _._ She didn't want to admit it, but she was. The thought of _anyone_ else around Mister J made her blood boil even now.

Even the _idea_ of him sitting there with another doctor was... Harleen gulped.

Would he laugh with them the way he did with her too?

Would he tell them his stories, ask about their day?

Would he glance at them in _that_ way, give them his low smiles and make them feel so lost and powerless in his presence like he made her?

And what about Lucille? Would she blush and feel her stomach tighten whenever he'd purr her name? Would Mister J _like_ her to feel that way?

The blonde doctor squeezed her eyes shut.

It was foolish and unprofessional but the fact remained and it pained her to no end. _She couldn't contain him._

Not even if she tried.

He simply didn't belong to her.

Not even after all those long hours, the brief moments they shared when she felt like she'd entered another dimension, a place where nothing else mattered but that they were there together...

No. Not even after that had she have any claim on her smirking patient. Joker didn't belong to anybody, maybe not even to himself. Harleen wondered if that's what made him so free, so bold in life. Perhaps he just didn't have a self to lose anymore...

Harleen exhaled sharply, her breathing the only sound apart from the slow dripping of tab water. No, she never had a right to him. He had never given her one in the first place and the realisation stung like hot iron in her quivering chest.

She pressed her stinging eyes closed, feeling for her office keys alongside the sink. The steel felt ice cold against her burning hands but she paid it no heed. As much as the very thought of it felt unbearable, as much as it went against every fibre of her being, she knew what she had to do.

The blonde doctor pushed herself off the little basin, her lips pressed into one, shaking line.

She needed to find Dr Carroway and apologize. And if her voice and her heart didn't betray her, she would offer her a few minutes with the man whose slow, silver smiles were her favourite thing in the world.

* * *

 **Another chapter's up! Once again, thank you _so much_ for the 10 new follows and 5 favourites and your reviews. Your support of this fic means a lot to me! **

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I also have good news: I've almost finished the next one, so expect an earlier update.**

 **Please, please let me all know what you thought about this, your reviews and support inspire me a lot!**

 **See you soon,**

 **ZeldaK**


	10. To Love a Wild Thing

" _Daddy, daddy look!"_

 _The thudding of tiny bare feet against a wooden porch immediately caught the attention of the man sitting on a wobbly stool with black combat boots in his calloused hands. His gentle, squinting eyes seemed to brighten into an impossible shade of baby blue as soon as they landed on the bouncing mass of blonde curls in a cream summer dress. How he wished he could spend more time with her! She was growing up too fast, changing right in front of his eyes and yet he could never witness that moment himself…_

" _Harley, baby, what is it?" She stopped right in front of him then, her soft cheeks flushed from the exertion as some of those flaxen locks stuck to her sweaty forehead. She was hardly taller than him when he was kneeling and so Officer Arnold Quinzel could see the little smile tugging on her rosebud mouth as she happily revealed to him the content of her closed palms._

" _Will it live, daddy? Can we help him?" Officer Quinzel gently put aside his half-cleaned boots before carefully taking the trembling red breast robin from his daughter's muddy hands._

 _One glance at the young bird revealed it to him all. With a sad sigh, the aging man shook his head: "I'm afraid it is too late, Harley. The poor creature is badly broken. See here? The wings are almost shattered." As he expected, the little girl's lower lip started to quiver as the light in her blue eyes, eyes that were so similar to his own, slowly faded away. He put one tanned arm around her tiny shoulders. They still hold a bit of baby fat on them and it comforted him whenever she stumbled into his warm embrace. Perhaps she wasn't growing up so fast after all. Perhaps there was still time, time for them to be together like a family should…_

" _Now you mustn't be too sad, baby. What did I tell you? Nature has its own ways. It has been decided for this little fellow. He will go to a better place, somewhere with an eternal summer and berries that are ripe all year round."_

" _But I don't want him to go anywhere," cried the girl with a frown, almost stomping her foot in white beat up sandals. "I want him to stay here with me. He's my friend now!"_

 _The man ran a hand through his greying black hair with a sigh. "Look baby. If you really want-"_

" _Yes please!"_

" _We could try help your little friend. But there is not much you and I can do. I want you to remember that. There are things in life you can't change, sweetheart. No matter how much you'll try. I don't want you to cry too much if this doesn't end well, understood?"_

" _Sir, yes sir." She was already jumping around then, reciting all the items and first aid essentials they would need for the rescue mission. He could see the excitement flooding her soft body, enlivening her speech and most of all, bringing back that overjoyed smile he adored so much._

"… _.and we could place him near the living room window. That way, he could always see the cherry tree over at Mr Murray's place."_

 _Arnold Quinzel observed his girl's beaming face with a shadow of grief around his wrinkled eyes. As much as his daughter's unreserved kindness was an endearing trait, he knew such an open heart was forever in danger of sacrificing more than it would receive in return._

* * *

"What kind of a question is that, Doc-tor?"

He was staring at her with a wild gleam in his eyes, the pale skin where his eyebrows should had been raised in faked confusion. She'd amused him, she could tell. It was written all over his slightly pursing, parched lips.

It was a cruel little smile, one she'd noticed he had reserved only for her. To tease her. Pain her. Humiliate her. And yet, it was a smile she awaited with impatience, one which she longed for in those cold, grey days when she wasn't authorized to enter the ground level of the facility. Such days were just _empty_ , empty like those two, bottomless orbs that could pin her on the spot and chill her to the bone. She couldn't tell whether it was due to their respective coldness or the warmth that washed over her confused frame like a tidal wave whenever her green haired patient let out a low, reverberating chuckle at yet another of her failed attempts to collect herself.

Who knew heat could feel like ice in her stomach too?

The blonde gulped, her throat gone dry once more: "H-have you?" It was hopeless, hopeless to… And yet she did. She voiced those ridiculous words, and she hated herself for it. Of course he would laugh! Of course he would mock her, joke about her hurt face… It angered her. It made her furious. He made her _despise_ him. She _wanted_ to despise him - for this, for all the things he had done: to her, to Gotham, even to himself… but she couldn't. As much as she tried, as much as she _wished_ she had it in herself, she couldn't hate the grinning man opposite her. Pain. It was causing her too much pain. Pleasure. Was there any pleasure left in their sessions? Just pain. Pleasure and pain.

They mixed, intertwined to the point she couldn't tell one from the other anymore.

Maybe it was for the best. Numb was good. Numb meant no fighting back. She was too tired for that… So tired.

" _Have I ever been in love?_ Is _that_ what you wanna know, Doctor Quinzel?"

She had to clench her knees together to stop her legs from trembling, her clammy palms ruining the pressed front of her white coat. He was right about her. Again. Did she?

 _Did_ she really? Why did she ask him then? Why? The blonde took in a shaky breath, the Arkham Asylum ID feeling like a hangman's noose around her long neck.

Joker laughed softly again before pointing at himself in one grand, fluid movement: "Do I look like a love dove to you?" She saw a flash of silver teeth and then he was there, leaning against the polished table between them with eyes rolled towards the ceiling. She felt she could breathe easier then. The whites of his eyes couldn't roam her face.

"Isn't that part of your diag-nonsense, Doc? _Unable to form true emotional attachment to other people._ Your very own, beautiful words?" That smile again. Slow and agonising as ever. Why? _How? How did she end up at this point?_

"Or are you now doubting your professional judgement? Is that the reason behind this _unlikely_ interrogation?"

Questions. If he just stopped asking those questions! He kept showing her the mirror when she didn't want to see the reflection. Was she really doubting herself? Was that it? Or was she hoping?

 _Hoping_ he would tell her she was indeed wrong about her assessment of him?

A chance. All she wanted was a _chance_. A bit of hope. A bit of hope that it wasn't all lost, that there _was_ future… That he saw it too.

Harleen's vision clouded again. The contrasting images of acid green, navy walls and his pristine white t-shirt rolled around in her tear-stung eyes like coloured glass in a kaleidoscope. Stupid. She was _so stupid_ … She didn't deserve the degree. She didn't deserve the internship, the acknowledgments. She sometimes felt she didn't deserve to live too.

Joker clicked his tongue in impatience. "Ah, you are awfully quite today, Doctor. If you want an answer, you'll need to _elaborate_." The blonde looked up in confusion, baby blue eyes meeting ice.

And in that one moment when she saw how those red lips stretched into a sly smirk…when she caught that _knowing_ twitch of its corners, the perceptive, sharp look in his eyes… - she felt her breathing hitch in her throat.

 _Did he know?_

Could he tell?Just the very thought of his suspicions made the young blonde in glasses sick to her stomach.

"What is _love_ , Doctor Quinzel? Define it for me."

She wanted to get up then and runaway. Escape that miserable room with its dark furniture, dim lights and conversations that haunted her long after she swiped her card at the exit and drove home with his whispers still echoing in her head. She wanted to flee but her limbs felt as if they were made of lead.

What was she supposed to tell him? How was she supposed to explain? _Damn him_ and his moronic laugh, his messed up growls she could always perfectly recollect as she lied in her bed – alone, always alone.

Was it madness? Was this _thing,_ this horrible, terrifying _pull_ she felt towards this man just a part of natural workings of a human mind? Could it be…could it be _it_?

And if so, what kind of a _monster_ did that make her?

"C'mon Doctor. You must have been in love before. You know what it feels like."

Just be quite… Just shut up. Please. Please, please. Oh _god_ , just make him shut up…

Harleen felt her mouth move but the sound of her own voice reached her ears as if through water. "It's like… Love is-,…" Deep breath. "It's like you feel you are not just yourself anymore. You are them and they are you. You are one and the same. And you would do anything for them. Anything…You…you would _change_ for them," she heard herself press painfully.

He was watching her with an unreadable look on his pale face and it seemed to her that his eyes had gone several shades darker. They were almost black now: deep, black pools that drew her in like a moth to a flame, yet she knew the fire in his intense gaze was anything but warm. "Really?" he challenged lowly. "Someone would do that? Even for a guy like _me_?"

She nodded stiffly, trying to calm her breathing as beads of sweat formed on her furrowed brows. How can he not…? Hasn't she showed him clearly enough? No! No, no, no…NO, she _did not_ want to...She _cannot_ show him, she can't… Has she? _Has she already done that?_

The heavy silence in the room stretched for several long minutes before the green haired man in front of her raised the tip of his tongue to touch the sharp edges of his grill. His eyes never left hers as he groaned and shifted in his seat to lean closer. "In that case, doll face," he moaned with a growing leer, "consider me to be _madly_ in love."

* * *

 _The living room window was left open, just like it had been for weeks. Strays of blonde hair danced in the cold morning breeze, whipping the wet face that stared into the wide fields of green stretching behind an uneven, red fence._

 _He tried to comfort her but it was to no avail. The sight of the small, shivering frame slumped against the window sill was making his own heart heavy with grief. Poor little Harleen. Her mother had already tried bringing her favourite sweet treats but no amount of pies was able to patch the hole in their girl's chest. The officer smiled sadly, hand resting against her little fists. She was just too gentle, too fragile for this world…_

 _Little robin recovered well. It surprised everyone except the little girl who diligently fed him dried raisins and checked his make-shift bandages before her own breakfasts. She was the one who took them off weeks later and watched the feathery ball attempt to stretch its healed wings for the first time. He should had seen in then, mused Officer Quinzel._

 _He should had started to prepare her for it, explain the inevitability of it all. But it was hard, so hard to talk to Harley about things she didn't want to see. What was to the world an already established fact, to her it was only a subject of change._

 _He rubbed her shoulders, feeling the shuddering heaves she took in between the sobs. The wailing quietened though and soon the frowning man felt it was time to breach the subject. Gently, he pried his daughter away from the cold window sill and supported her tired, damp body against his own solid form. "I want you to listen to me very carefully, Harleen Frances Quinzel."_

 _He waited until her red-rimmed, desolate eyes found his face before continuing a bit less sternly:_

" _Harley, baby. Do not ever cling to a wild thing like this._ Please _. They don't understand or appreciate love, my dear. They only grow stronger from it and before you'll know, they'll be running back to the wilderness."_

* * *

 **Chapter's up!**

 **I decided to postpone the reveal of the new character to later chapters but I hope you enjoyed this one with the flashback instead. I really wanted to include something showing more of Harleen's hopelessly self-sacrificing character.**

 **Also, the bird she rescues as a child – a red breast robin, is actually the symbol of death. In my own little universe, her father who as you can tell was a police officer, dies shortly afterwards. I know, I am very cruel to her but it makes perfect sense to me that she would have this amazing relationship with her parent only to lose him very young… Daddy issues in adulthood? I would say yes.**

 **When it comes to Mister J, I say the tension is high in the air and the bubble is about to burst very soon. So be ready!**

 **AND huge thanks to all those follows and favourites, you guys rock! And of course, a special THANK YOU to all those of you who reviewed:** KillerJack, LnknInsanity, ahxlly, hisuichanxx **and** Casey525, **who actually reviewed every single chapter! Wow. Thank you so much for taking all that time!**

 **Your feedback means a great deal to me, so please keep the reviews up guys!**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **ZeldaK**


	11. Convictions

**A/N: CAUTION-CHANGED CONTENT!**

 **Hello there my dear readers! THANK YOU for returning to this story! Once again, I'm terribly sorry for the wait. I am making up for it by adding THREE new chapters today. In order to do this, I had to do some magic with story content thus far….**

 **So the first two new chapters are a prequel/different version of the last chapter I posted (Chapter 11.) I split the original version into two parts with a slightly changed plot and added material.**

 **The third new chapter called** _ **Black Horse**_ **is then a BRAND NEW CHAPTER. And a brand new character is coming, make a guess** **I say it was about time Mr J brought things forward…**

 **I'm sorry for any confusion this edit may cause. I've removed the original Chapter 11. to make this transition smoother for you. I just feel this version creates a better setting for what I'm planning to do with this story in the future.**

 **So bear with me, I hope you will enjoy this revised chapter more than the original.**

 **We are nearing the end of** _ **Sick Rose**_ **, ladies and gentlemen :)** **Enjoy the ride.**

* * *

Harleen stared lifelessly at the blank sheet in the medical file. She was freezing in that damn room but through the headache she had barely paid attention to it.

 _In that case, doll face, consider me to be madly in love._

The words were on a replay in her head for the past seven days.

 _Consider me to be madly_ _ **in love**_ _._

She sighed, covering her face with ice cold hands.

 _Why_ did he say that? What did he mean?

And most importantly, _did_ he mean it?

Could _**The**_ _ **Joker**_ possibly….

….

" _Remember when we talked about the Cheshire Cat?"_

" _ **If**_ _I remember? Doctor Quinzel, you know I live for these moments with you. What have you got?"_

 _Her heart fluttered in her chest like a butterfly trying to escape from a glass jar. For how long can she go on like this?_

 _She knew it, she felt it all play out on her pinkish skin and watered eyes, in her shy glancing away from his grinning face. The soft laugher and then sudden tensing of the lips, the eternal struggle to school her face into a serious, impassive facade… She truly hated herself sometimes._

 _The young doctor cleared her throat._

" _I-I brought you a kitty. I thought you might like it. The kitty, I mean. It's just a stuffed toy but… Well, I thought that this way-…. This way you can always have me here with you even if I'm not really around. It's a… ha, It's another therapy trick just for you."_

 _The laughter she let out was too high-pitched, too anxious but he didn't seem to notice._

 _Instead, he gave her a brilliant smirk of his own: "Har-leeen,"_

 _She shivered._

" _This is_ _ **all**_ _very thoughtful of you. How do the French say it? Merci beaucoup?"_

 _She gulped, unable to tear her eyes away from his toned arms and broad shoulders, which he rolled and rolled like a young cat stretching on a rooftop. "I-I don't know. I have never learned French."_

" _Ah, maybe you'll know this one, Harls. What would you say about….je t'aime?"_

 _His laughter then made her heart skip a beat._

… _.._

It was… p _ossible_.

After all, not many studies had been done in that particular area.

If the whole "psychopaths can't form true attachment" hypothesis hadn't been an empirically confirmed fact, then it _could be_ wrong…

Harleen bit her lip.

But was this the case? Was this even his correct diagnosis?

If he _was_ the sociopath everyone in Gotham City so religiously claimed, then how could she understand him so well?

 _How could they get along?_

He was not sane, she'd give them that. She couldn't deny there was something _very wrong_ with the man behind the infamous _Joker_ …

She sighed as she flipped a page in his medical file. She knew it by heart by now. She even remembered the page numbers.

Yes. Mister J had plenty of issues. Deep seated, dark, lost in his past, in his memories. They were all the things he refused to talk to her about no matter how much she had tried to relieve him.

They were like a tumour: spreading through his brain, seeping through his veins and infecting him with madness the limits of which were probably unknown even to him…

But no.

This was not what psychopathy looked like.

After all, his sympathy, his concern, their conversations and his smiles….weren't they all just too genuine to be anything but real?

He _had_ to be real!

It **all** had to be _real_.

She just couldn't bear it, couldn't have it any other way….

Even if the others couldn't see it.

…

 _Bruce Wayne eyed the blonde girl with hostility, lips twitching at the sight of the dress that peeked through the white flaps of her coat. She didn't have the time to button it up, Arkham called her in such a hurry…_

" _So you are Harleen Quinzel."_

 _A statement, not a question._

 _She winced at the lack of her professional title but plastered a smile on her face nevertheless._

" _It's nice to finally meet you, Mr Wayne. The hospital appreciates your continued support of our cau-"_

" _I sure don't approve of the hospital's usage of this support as I've been telling Dr Arkham just last week. Maybe you can help me understand here: what's the point of locking that_ _ **coked-up freak**_ _in a solitary cell unit when it is filled with his favourite personal belongings and is granted extra exercise hours? Was it you, by the way, who cancelled his body restraint policy?"_

 _Harleen's ears reddened in anger as she stared at the man in front of her. "I see no point in cruelty, Mr Wayne. Patient 14965_ _is under constant surveillance, his freedom was taken away by the state. For a man like him, that's enough of a punishment."_

" _Is that so?" he hissed coldly. "Do you feel like that's enough for what he has done to this city?"_

 _Silence._

" _Or did you forget somewhere along your sessions that he is a deranged psychopath with_ _ **zero**_ _regard for human life unless it serves his purposes? He has murdered people younger than_ _ **you**_ _, Quinzel! Little older than kids!"_

 _She didn't dare to move and stared instead at the plush seats at the other side of Dr Arkham's office._

 _Realising his loss of temper, Bruce Wayne turned his broad back on her, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He paused before speaking again: "But I can tell what has happened here."_

 _In one swift movement, Wayne was facing her again: "Did he tell you his sob stories, Doctor? Abusive, criminal father, drug addicted mother and a house in a slum with a backyard full of trash?"_

 _No. No, how could he…? How dare he! And in that tone... so cold, so pitiless!_

 _Did he even_ _ **understand**_ _what he was talking about? What kind of a life was that?_

 _No. Of course not… How could he ever understand, how could he even imagine what a life in that sort of a neighbourhood felt like? She had never experienced that sort of despair herself but…. just_ _ **living**_ _in an area next to children like that in Canarsie was…!_

 _She hissed the harsh words before she could process them: "Do you know a lot about growing up in poverty, Mr Wayne?"_

 _The man himself remained silent for a while, searching her eyes with an unnerving precision. It reminded her of a different pair which were set in a face no less cunning than the one in front of her right now… She held her head up high though. She would not back down. Not even if Dr Arkham pressed her to apologize for this later._

" _I know a lot about growing up with absent parents. It didn't turn_ _ **me**_ _into a criminal, Miss Quinzel."_

" _It's_ _ **Doctor**_ _Quinzel, Mr Wayne," she replied with a glare._

 _Bruce Wayne regarded her with a cold, impassive expression on his darkened features before wordlessly gathering his jacket and heading for the door._

 _Just when she gave up on a reply, she saw him growl over his shoulder: "You are not a doctor yet. Just an intern. And if Gotham City is lucky enough, you'll stay just that."_

" _Have a good day, Miss Quinzel."_

… _.._

Yes. This was _the other_ issue. It was the one that had plagued her mind for quite some time.

Harleen got up, pacing her office with wild eyes.

Maybe Bruce Wayne was right.

Maybe she was not worth her title, her own credentials.

Because maybe the reason _why_ she got on so well with Arkham Asylum's most notorious patient was that she, just like Mister J, was…

….

" _Lucille!"_

 _Nothing. She had only increased her pace._

" _Lucille, wait!"_

 _Finally, the woman turned around._

" _Yes, Harleen?" Pale. Her face was so pale it made the panting doctor pause in her tracks…_

" _I-. I-I am_ _ **so**_ _sorry, Lucille! You have no idea how horrible I feel, I don't know wh-"_

" _No, that's ok." The brunette attempted a smile but it only came out as a tense grimace. "Don't worry about it, I'll figure something out for my dissertation. Maybe Dr Leland will have-"_

" _But I just came to tell you that of course you can have a few sessions with…with_ _ **him**_ _, if you still want to. You could even start next Friday-"_

" _No, that's ok Harleen. Really."_

" _But-"_

" _Listen, I really have to go now. My patient is waiting. But take care of yourself, alright?"_

 _The blonde stood dumbfounded as she stared after the jittery doctor that hurried down an empty corridor._

 _She tried very hard not to think of the way Lucille's fingers itched for her panic button throughout their entire conversation..._

… _._

No.

No, no, no. That was not possible.

How could it be?

Just _how_ that could had gone undetected for years!?

She had passed the assessments!

 _All_ of them, be it at the university or even before getting on board with this internship.

She _had been_ psychologically tested….

It _had_ to be impossible.

And yet, how could she explain all this? What was going on with her mind? Has she really-?

Because _**that**_ would be crazy…

But if Mister J meant what he said, didn't it make it alright?

Because it would mean he was not that far gone.

It would mean he wasn't…. And if he wasn't, then she couldn't be either, not for…. _This_.

She collected a dirty cup with shaky hands and stumbled towards the kitchen area. Tears overcame her before the cup reached the sink.


	12. Suicide Blonde

**A/N: As promised, a new take on the last chapter is here! Let me know what you think! Any suggestions for improvement are very welcome. YOUR opinion of the character arch and development of both Harleen and the Joker in this story is very important to me :)**

 **Hope you'll enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

"Say it."

The rain fell heavily on Gotham City and its rhythmic thud against the dirty windowpanes seemed to calm her frantic heartbeat.

"Come on, _Har-leen_. Just say it."

Raising a quivering hand to her head, the doctor smothered back some blonde strands before glancing at the smirking man in front of her.

"Why do you want me to… to say whatever this is all about, Mister J, when you claim you already know?" she tried to challenge him, to mask the dread eating away on her insides but by the twitch of his red lips she suspected it had failed to fool him.

"Why, to help you of course. To help you with your _insanity_. Because that's what you are, doctor. _You are crazy_."

Her breathing hitched in her throat as she stared at the green haired man in disbelief.

The Joker slammed his hands against the wooden table with a HA!

"Oh yes! And that's your problem, you see? You're in denial. Acknowledging you have a problem is the first step towards recovery, isn't it doll face?"

Sighing dramatically, he continued: "Let me put it this way for you, Harleen. I've asked you once why you are here. You said something boring, something… _predictable -_ like you want to _help_ me, my poor, lost soul, that you want to understand me and that you _care_?"

No. No, he cannot know that. He cannot know anything… She did care, she still does! But that's all there was to it, she had been through it all, she had reasoned with herself and she had come to the con-

"Well, those were _lies_ , Doctor," he announced with unwavering certainty that shut her own reasoning. Breathing heavily, she avoided looking back into those bright blue orbs as he eyed her like a shark in shallow waters, but she sensed them running all over her ashen face, her trembling lip and numb fingers.

"Or maybe they weren't," Mister J mused happily, unaffected by the blonde's tense frame. "I guess that's what you really believed in that time. Something you try to tell yourself even now, isn't that right Harleen?"

She couldn't help herself but squeeze her eyes shut when he had leaned forward again.

It was all too much, too much…

"Of course, you _know_ the truth now. Is that why you are so scared? Did you finally figure yourself out and are now afraid to look in the mirror?"

Why? Why must he go on…? If he could just forget, if she could just pretend…

"You _crave_ this, Harleen. The risk, the danger. That's why you're still hangin' around. I make you feel _alive_."

She couldn't bear it any longer. He was mocking her, laughing in her face. How could he do that to her _now_? After everything he had said, all their time together… how can he act as if those moments between them had never existed…?

"But I guess you are right about one thing, doll face. The one you won't admit out loud, you know."

Harleen felt she was going to faint. His purring voice was nearly inaudible through the sounds of her own shallow breathing and the blouse that clung to her damp chest chilled her in the drift.

No. No, no, no.

"You are not a very good liar, Harleen. Because I _know,"_ he paused, meaningfully glancing at her horrified face, "I _know_ you love me, Doc. _You_ have gone absolutely _crazy_ for me and that's a _fact_ no matter how hard you try to deny it."

This was it. _It was over_. Tears began to prick in her eyes as she whimpered, silently begging him, begging him to…. What? Stop? She didn't know anymore. The pain in her heart was just too unbearable.

"Or do you? Do you really love me, Harls? In the way you so eloquently described weeks ago?"

She couldn't breathe through her nose, nor from her mouth any longer. The lump in her throat wouldn't allow it and the shiver that began to shake her body made thinking impossible. She stared at his moving mouth, letting herself be blinded by the metallic shine whenever his grill caught the light from their tiny lamp. It felt as if the whole world shrank around them and took place right there and then, by their wooden table in therapy room number 316….

"Would you do anything in the world for me, Harleen? Absolutely anything because we are one and the same?"

 _It was over_. It was all over and she _couldn't_ , she wouldn't do anything about it anymore….she just couldn't, not to d-

"I-I would."

And there it was.

It came out as a croak through the burning tears that streamed down her face, but she couldn't care less.

Despite everything, despite the humiliation and pain, it all felt like an epiphany.

She had said it.

She _loved_ him.

She had finally admitted it, to herself, out load, and she had never felt so lost, so certain and so, so utterly _broken_ at the same time.

"I would. Y-you know I would… J! Please…"

He observed her in silence, seemingly above her greedy gasps for air and hysterical sobs. After what felt like an eternity, he lowered his voice, leaning in to get a better look at the blonde's crimson, swollen face. "Yes. I suppose you mean it now. You _must_ feel it too, Harleen. You must know that we were born to tether on the brink of insanity together."

She attempted to dry her eyes with the back of her sleeve, tainting the white fabric with black smears of her mascara. It felt as if she had glass in her eyes but it didn't matter because when he talked like that, everything in the world made perfect sense…

They were _meant_ to be. There was simply no other explanation why her so beautifully uncomplicated life would suddenly come crumbling down in a turmoil like this… She was meant to meet him. He was meant to be part of her life, just like she was destined to be in his…

"And there is only one thing we can do about it, Harls," he continued in a serious tone, eyes never letting go of her anxious face, "what _you_ must do, doll face."

"Anything, Mister J," she half-whispered into the silence. It still felt like a secret, she still couldn't -

"I need a machine gun."

* * *

The room froze.

"A ma- _machine_ _gun_?" She had misheard surely. He couldn't be asking for that, he couldn't mean to… "Mister J, wha-, why would y-?"

"I have changed for you, _Harleen_. Or did you forget? All those medications, therapies, best behaviour…that was all for _you_ , doll face. I have _changed_ for you. I did that one thing, that one _impossible_ thing you could have asked of me. Isn't that what _love_ is all about, huh? Isn't that what you had said?"

She must had gone mad.

She must be hearing things because what he had just said was just too good to be true. Yet, the earnest, soul-searching look in his pale eyes mirrored the deepest emotion she had ever witnessed…. And with every ticking second he remained so focused on her, she began to feel the warmth return to her body.

"You, y-you love me, Mister J?" It was only a whisper of disbelief but it felt as if she had shouted it from across the room.

So she had been right before. About Mister J, about everything. He was not a hopeless case. They… _this_ was not hopeless! None of it was! And if he wasn't… diagnosed with _that_ , then she couldn't be either and her world, her _normal_ world may not fall apart after all. Only if he would-

The buzzer went off, making her painfully twitch in her seat, but it had brought her back to reality. She knew they only had a few seconds before the wardens marched in and took him away. And she _had_ to know. She had to know the answer right then and there. She _couldn't_ wait for a week. She wouldn't live through it…

"Mister J, do you love m-"

But hearing the approaching footsteps and raised voices behind the locked doors, the Joker pressed on: "Will you do it, Harleen? Will you do it for me? For _us_?"

"I-"

"You _have to_ get the gun, Harleen!"

"N-no! _**No**_ , I can't!" There was another way, she knew there _had to_ be another way as she frantically reached for his pale, motionless hand resting against the table.

"Listen J, if you could just stay here, you could stay and get better! I will help you, I would finish the job, you can recover fully, I swear. We could make it work then, we c-"

And then she hit the cold tiles with a bang.

* * *

The world spun around her. Her head felt like it would split into two and it took her several seconds to realize she was sprawled on the floor next to her chair. Something warm was trickling down the side of her face but she didn't want to look down on the linoleum where the puddle grew larger and larger with every new drop like a blossoming red flower.

Dazed, she could vaguely make out the agitated shouts of the six wardens that currently occupied the therapy room, attempting to restrain a trashing, white body in navy blue slacks.

He had hit her.

He'd hit her with such a force that the blow knocked her off her chair.

Harleen let out a strangled moan, trying and failing to prop herself up on her elbows. She could hear some female voices calling out her name, felt their gentle, reassuring hands on her shaking shoulders but their pity and concern counted for nothing. They didn't know what had just happened. They had no idea.

Another warm liquid found its way down her ashen face. She tasted the salt in the corner of her lips and knew they were tears even before her tired, reddened eyes began to prick and clouded her view on the laughing, green haired man pressed on the floor…

* * *

It felt good.

It felt _**so**_ good he wished he could relive the moment when his fist connected with her soft jaw a thousand times over.

The girl was just so _naïve_.

He knew it, of course. He could tell from day one that his beautiful new psychiatrist was the epitome of a _suicide blonde_ …

The Joker watched with great satisfaction as the crying doctor was escorted out of the room by three elderly nurses.

He barely even paid attention to the uniformed men above him struggling to put him back into the dirty straight jacket.

His impeding restriction of movement was irrelevant.

What mattered was that he had Harleen Quinzel exactly where he wanted.

All he needed was to make a phone call.


	13. Black Horse

The aggressive beat mixed with the doped up laughter of some of the clients and the sickly sweet smell of sweat, alcohol and face powder was enough to make his stomach turn.

He really hated that place.

It was too loud, too flashy for his liking. Too _rowdy_. Like some high class lunapark. Except that the expensive furnishings and occasional, nauseating wafts of designer perfumes couldn't hide the fact that the guests were all scum. Luxurious, Balmain-wearing, shit-grinning criminal scum. And he himself was one of the most prominent patrons.

Briefly glancing at the raised platform in the centre of the dance floor where the glistening, convulsing bodies of their "best girls" blurred into one shade of nude and gold, Johnny Frost took a gulp of the now warm liquid he had been swirling in his glass for the last half an hour. He didn't like drinking at work, especially on nights as busy as this. But the last business meeting on Boss' behalf didn't go well at all, and he really needed something to ease his tense shoulders.

Feeling the burning sensation all down his throat, Frost begrudgingly weighted his options. There was only one at this point, really.

He'd have to let him know.

Frost signalled the brunette to get him another shot before watching the sea of moving limbs behind the bar stand. He had been with J long enough to know when things were going seriously downhill and this was certainly the moment. Their heroin and meth trade was officially _fucked_ on the East Side turf, there was no denying it. The Russians were overstepping their boundaries again and it was only a matter of time before Maroni and Falcone clans sniffed the opportunity to break loose too.

Lost cash. It all meant tons and _tons_ of lost cash from prostitution, ammo and narcotics. _J's cash_. And if _he_ lost, they all did.

On top of that, six of their men were gone after the last weapon trade in the docks and what was even worse, two of the new kids got caught during a plant arson one big-name corporation ordered a month ago. Frost now had to arrange their quite, _fast_ disposal before FBI could connect the dots and get involved. J's operations were on their radar, everyone knew that. It was hard not to be the government's, or even Interpol's business when one ran a criminal empire of J's magnitude. Luckily for Frost though, the kids were sent to Morsdale Penitentiary.

It should be easy enough. Accidents at the Morsdale prison playgrounds happened _all the time_.

It was funny though, Frost mused as his dark eyes squinted at the filled up booths that lined the club's golden walls. He could hear the coquettish laughter of girls in tight cocktail dresses and the low, rumbling sweet-talks of men half-hidden in shadows with only their diamond encrusted watches sparkling in the club lights. Those men were all so stupid, so _forgetful_.

Noticing his shot glass approaching, Frost watched as the light blue of ice cubes mingled with the rich tones of amber. One would think Boss' stranglehold on Gotham's underworld would be like that whisky he served at his club. Getting better as the years passed by. But it was not. It was an eternal brewing process in which once the high temperature was achieved, the tubes broke and slowly but surely the tank got cooler with steam escaping through the cracks until there came a fix, and the liquid boiled and swirled with demonic intensity again, the whiskey more bitter, more pungent than ever before until the next glitch came and the machine from hell collapsed once more.

Because they never learned: neither did the great, most dangerous gangs, nor did the small time thieves and thugs. With its King gone, Gotham's crime scene became an Indian territory. Treaties were broken, services remained unpaid and old rivalry and bloodthirst reared their ugly head again, together with the hot-headed, brawling new-comers wishing just as much as the old cats of the jungle to try and replace the Clown Prince.

Frost absentmindedly traced the outline of his Magnum .004 hidden in his suit. It always ended the same way. Once J got back from whatever hellhole the government managed to find for him, his fury rained down on Gotham City like blazing fire, wiping away in its wake any remnants of those who foolishly thought they could equal him. All those who thought they could take what was his, dead. Because Gotham was _his_ , every cobblestone and pebble in a dark alley, every dead body floating in the Gotham River, every illicit deal, gram of coke, financial scam, bank robbery or protection racketeering: one way or the other, they all traced back to him.

Frost snorted. Like he had said. They _never_ learned and they always forgot just _why_ they dreaded the pale devil in metallic suits in the first place.

But until he finished preparations for his Boss' next grand prison break, he was alone to deal with all their business problems. J trusted him the most, Frost appreciated that and his position certainly had many perks and privileges, but cleaning up when the shit hit the fan was most definitely not one of them.

With a final look at the dazzling, decadent dancefloor before him, Frost reached to his breast pocket to pull out an unassuming black mobile phone. Mentally preparing the wording of the bad news to his notoriously short-tempered employer, he was opening his message box when a short beeping sound made him hold still.

Staring at the flashing screen in his hand, Frost knitted his brows together in confusion.

 ** _Change of plans, Johnny Boy._**

The ear-bursting trap rap the DJ just hit the club with miraculously faded into white noise in Frost's mind as he felt his heart rate pick up at the words.

What the _fuck_?

There was _no_ time to make changes! Everything was settled, half of it already _paid_ for. J _knew_ that.

The screen flashed again and Frost swore under his breath.

A pair of bright, baby blue eyes, handsomely rimmed with curved eyelashes stared at him shyly from behind a pair of fashionable prescription glasses. Their gaze was gentle, eager, slightly self-conscious but nevertheless determined. Frost was quick to decipher people, a skill that saved his life more times than he could count, and he could tell those eyes belonged to a person who was _desperate_ for approval. For acceptance. For love. There were many clues etched in the attractive, wide features of the rosy-cheeked blonde who was smiling softly into his emotionless face from what appeared to be an ID card photograph. He didn't need the following black and white CCTV images to know exactly who it was. He heard enough of the reports from the few wardens and IT security at Arkham Asylum that were kept on J's payroll.

The young woman in red high heels and a white coat, photographed talking to a tall, middle-aged man, carrying her tray of food to an empty table, striding down narrow, white washed corridors with some papers clutched to her chest or getting in and out of a small car…. She could be no one else but _Harleen Quinzel_ , the Boss' newest and youngest shrink.

Before he could analyse the reasons for his employer's sudden change of mind, the phone beeped again.

 ** _Behold the black horse!_**

 ** _She's cheap, don't worry._**

 ** _The cheapest one in fact. HAHA!_**

Frost continued to re-read the curt sentences, the true meaning of every word finally dawning on him. His brows raised as the final beep confirmed his suspicions.

 ** _Be prepared._**

* * *

 **A/N: Aaaaaaand finally, the third new update of this story! I hope you've enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I loved writing it. I suppose everyone needs a Johnny Frost in their lives.**

 **Reviews are very much appreciated!**

 **Till next time,**

 **ZeldaK**


	14. Black & Blue

**First of all, THANK YOU SO MUCH to all of you who have favorited, commented or followed this story during almost a year long pause. YOU have ultimately been my greatest motivation in writing this chapter. I would like to apologize for the insanely long period without updates.**

 **Some of you wrote to me saying you hoped I didn't abandon this story. Please know that however long the pauses may be, I will NOT leave this story unfinished! I love Dr Quinzel and Mister J too muc,h and appreciate your ongoing support of this story too much for that. I hope to be able to post a few more chapters soon, we are truly approaching the end of** _ **Sick Rose,**_ **and this in itself makes it a bit more difficult to write. Please bear with me.**

 **That being said, massive thank you again to all of you who have stuck with me and my work THIS FAR. I hope you will like this chapter and are looking forward to see with me where this story will lead us to.**

 **PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK, your thoughts and ideas are my greatest inspiration and motivation to write. I would also like to point out once again that this is NOT A LOVE STORY, so expect no fluff in these final chapters. If you see the relationship dynamic between Harleen and the Joker the way I see it and try to portray in this story from its very beginning, it will come as no surprise to you, I'm sure…**

 **I am however open to your concerns, wishes or questions regarding the plotline or anything else, so don't hesitate to ask me**

 **THANK YOU and PLEASE REVIEW GUYS!**

 **LOVE, Zelda.**

Three weeks.

Twenty-one full days.

Exactly 504 hours and 30 240 minutes without _him_. Harleen had counted it.

She had counted it and re-counted it again, and could still not figure out just _how_ she had survived through more than a half of it. Because it was just that. _Surviving._ Existing, not living. _Breathing_ in and out, _in_ and …

It was pointless. Pointless to plead, humiliating to beg and absolutely devastating to realize and _feel_ the defeat. Arkham was relentless. And the asylum board, that _board_ which had so far only praised her achievements and named her the brightest star of modern-age Gotham psychiatry, stood unwaveringly by him, ruining her only chance to reverse Arkham's decision.

They had might as well put her on that cold stretcher... Might as well had strapped her to its mustard-coloured, hard surface and flicked the machines _ON-_

Harleen flinched, blue eyes creaking open. Blood shot eyes. They had been nothing but blood shot for the last fourteen days…Or was it sixteen already? Seventeen? Was it _time_ yet?

Time. Time, _time,_ t-i-m-e… but for _what?_

Maybe it was the right thing to do… She was losing control, _had_ _been_ losing it for some time.

 _You know it Harleen, you know it is true._

She needed to let go. She _had_ to let go and go back to and get on with her life…

Her _own_ life.

Not Mister J's… No, there's no Mister J. It's the _Joker_ , her patient number 14-… Number?

Her _patient._

Doctor. Patient.

Patient. _Doctor_.

How much time did it take for a patient to become a _former_ patient? And how long did it take for a doctor to become a stranger? _And what_ was _the time anyway?_

Dazed, she re-focused on the dark, purple circles, which had threatened to swallow the two, narrow slits of red and blue that used to be her eyes. Her skin was greyish, marbled, etched with soft lines around her cracked lips. Harleen frowned. Had she always looked this _old_?

 _Time_. Passing by. A life of her own.

A life-time spent working at America's finest psychiatric institutions (she doubted she'd be able to walk back to Arkham Asylum if there wasn't _him_ waiting for their session…), going to conference after conference, lecture here and lecture there, always remembered, _immortalized_ as the young woman who _used to_ treat the 'man who smiled'… Only that no one would know what his smile really felt like, how his whispers sent shivers of pleasure down her spine and how his pale eyes shined back on her, looking and _seeing_ her just the way she wanted to be seen… no, to them, she'd be just someone who _used to_ be famous…

She wondered, would she be a married woman one day?

A young psychiatrist turned a young wife...

A _mother_. A wife. Friend. Confidant, doctor – _Patient_?

'Time for you and time for me…time for…. hundred indecisions'

Except there was only _one_ decision to be made.

To let go or hold on to… to what?

Her life?

A life-time without _life…_ becausewhat else would it be without _him_? Just time. All the time in the world with no place for her to truly _live_ … At what point in time had this actually happened?

What _had_ become of her life?

….. He was right, of course. She was being ungrateful. _He_ had changed, he had changed for her, tried to be a better man so they could…

Maybe he would get better this way.

Maybe _this_ would help (i _t probably wouldn't help, but she had to believe….she had to make herself believe…)_ and they would stand a chance in the future. The time would be crucial, it would _pass_ and there would come a day in the future when legally, she could be no longer considered his doctor, when _he_ would be legally no longer her former patient and then, they could be like strangers, _strangers_ able to live their own lives…

Or? Was there the _other_ option? _Could_ she actually do it?

With a shaky sob, the blond pushed herself off the sink and away from the mirror. There was no point in staring at the present reflection, willing the reality of it to change…

The green bruise covering the right side of her face from brow-bone to the tip of her broken nose was still there each time she had opened her eyes…

Old? No. She felt _ancient_.

Ancient, vacant and terrifyingly _alone_.

 _Because just how much_ time _would have to pass before they could live their lives like that?_

The law and time knew no mercy…

* * *

"She didn't take it well, I'm telling you. This-, this _whole_ situation is a disaster!" He no longer cared who he was talking to. _Months_ of work, months of positive reports, zero incidents and now _this…_ Dr Arkham could almost feel the faith and steady funding of the facility slip away between his shaking fingertips.

Out of the darkened corner came a grumbling response:

"What exactly did she say?"

"That I cannot do it! That it's ridiculous, it would destroy all of her present-day progress with that homicidal freak and that her entire _study_ would be ruined without her own medical results! As if she cared about empirical research anymore!" Arkham was pacing frantically around the lounge, his usual decorum left somewhere in the meeting room on the 24th floor of Wayne Enterprises.

The board members had been particularly appalled that day, but it was hard to say whether it was because of Quinzel's incredulous and manic behaviour, or because the ruby liquid that began to trickle down her lips and chin once again as she'd became agitated was a fool-proof evidence of the Asylum's failure to tame Gotham's famously unhinged crime boss yet again. All that, and after such a _promising_ period under Quinzel's supervision…. it had been a crushing disappointed to many.

"I need a drink," snapped the doctor in defeat and made a bee-line for the expensive whiskey bottle on the chrome side table set with two glasses. Out of nowhere, the bulk of Bruce Wayne's frame came into view and stopped his progress with a swift move of his watch-bearing arm. Arkham noticed the otherwise well-fitting tuxedo had a few creases and once again asked himself just _why_ was he reporting to the billionaire in the latter's private apartment in the Wayne Tower...

 _Where was he anyway when the board meeting was in session?_

He accepted the glass with a mumbled thanks and waited for the other man to join him: "You won't have one with me?"

"I don't drink."

'Curiouser and curiouser, thought Alice'. Except that Arkham felt like he could _not_ handle any more turns of events and frankly, after the mayhem at the asylum _,_ he no longer cared about the reason behind Wayne's brooding and just slightly ominous involvement in every debate concerning the Joker's treatment that'd ever occurred in the board meeting. _Just don't cut me off, you spoiled little brat._ It was not his _personal_ or his staff's fault that the psychopathic clown was just so damn unmanageable.

He downed the whiskey and grimaced at its bitter aftertaste: "I've been thinking then, when I saw Quinzel so panicked, so _furious_ with me before the meeting…. about what you've said last time. I thought then that maybe it's really high time we hit reverse".

A raised brow. "I told you she wasn't a good choice from the start."

"I know you did, but I already told you _he_ had asked for her," barked the doctor impatiently, slamming the glass onto the table between them, "The Joker is a one-man-mob. There was _nothing_ I could do. You _know_ it's like that!"

Bruce Wayne turned away, hands slowly smoothing down his –for once- messy hair.

After a while, he continued in a grave voice: "He must have seen something in her. Sniffed out her soft spot. Just like with all the others he had manipulated before her."

"But she was so _un_ -like all the others! She's lasted this long for heaven's sake. He used to lash out on his therapists in the first session, _no-one_ stayed with him longer than a few weeks. It was… it was as if _someone_ was finally able to get him to _reason_. He was actually _in therapy_! That's what I don't understand. I thought it was working. _She_ was working. And _now…_ after _months_ there comes a fist in the face, three stitches on the forehead and a broken nose! It looked even worse when she walked in to the board meeting. Cavendish was _not happy_. And we both know he goes for lunch with the chief-editors of at least five national newspapers. If this gets out again, the asylum is ruined, Mr Wayne! _I am ruined!_ "

Breathing heavily, Dr Arkham tried to fix the younger man's eyes in a pleading glance but the dark haired man had a far-away stare fixed upon the numerous papers sprawled on his undoubtedly very expensive artisan desk. After a while, the billionaire announced:

"You don't have to worry about that just yet. He's still _in_ the Asylum. The board might act angry but they don't care that much as long as he's not out in the streets, high as a kite, knocking down pedestrians with his sports cars after some cartel shoot out in Delton Bay."

Silence.

"So, you say you sent her on a paid leave for a while?" continued Wayne, pinning the doctor down with an intense stare, "Told her she needed time off to recuperate?"

"Yes," moaned the doctor, briefly satisfied with having the other man's support. Wayne was right of course. As long as The Joker was safely behind bars, he couldn't rule Gotham's crime scene. And that was all the protection the public could ask for.

"I told her I think it's been a bit too much for her lately, that we might see his outburst as a sign she needed a holiday to re-focus and re-evaluate. I find her to be quite slacking her other patients, you see? She got too _involved_ with his case. I haven't seen a typed word from her regarding that empirical research on psychopathy she was so interested in, since she had been given a green light with the clown."

Bruce Wayne shifted slightly, glancing momentarily away from the sitting doctor.

"Maybe… maybe we should consider this incident as a struck of luck…. At least it gave me a legitimate reason to pull her off the case for a while…. She couldn't argue with that."

"Did she or _he_ tell you _why_ he hit her?"

Arkham slowly shook his head: "No, she wouldn't tell. I thought she was going to pass out… It seemed the whole thing had really struck a nerve with her. But then again, we were all shocked. It came out of nowhere, even for _him_."

Silence.

"Whatever it was, the clown clearly didn't get his way. I suppose the girl has a greater will power than we gave her credit for, Dr Arkham. You made her sign the papers then. _The alternative therapy,_ as requested by the board."

"Yes. She made a downright scene about it in my office. I think she was quite confused for a while but the clown is with Dr Strange for now alright. I think Alex might be able to permanently fry his brains out by the time Quinzel returns, or at least let's hope he does."

"Shock therapy then?"

"Shock therapy. We're going down on him the 19th century way. Hydrotherapy, ECT and then again. Trauma after trauma. I must say I wish I've found a reason to do this sooner. It's certainly no treatment for him, but if he's not coherent at the end of it all, it will be for the best for all of us."

The billionaire snorted, unamused: "Just not for Doctor Quinzel."

The doctor's eyes darted to the grim man in a dishevelled tuxedo.

"No," he replied carefully, "just not for Doctor Quinzel."

* * *

Cold, pale eyes scanned the small piece of office paper, smuggled to him with his evening 'selection' of meds. He could still make out the ARKHAM ASYLUM watermark in the top-left corner. It was a torn-out piece, former part of a bigger picture which no longer fit the image…

He smirked, bloody red lips stretching into a wide, cruel smile.

No blotched ink as a sign of tears, he had to admire that.

Little doctor clearly had a more levelled head than he thought. Once she had reached a decision, she stuck with it, no regrets and _no_ looking back.

 **I** _ **will**_ **do it, J.**

 **I'm so sorry about before.**

 **-H**

 _Good_. He needed that. Just like he had planned. There was only one thing left to do…

But _first_ , he had to call Frost.

* * *

 **First of all, THANK YOU SO MUCH to all of you who have favorited, commented or followed this story during almost a year long pause. YOU have ultimately been my greatest motivation in writing this chapter. I would like to apologize for the insanely long period without updates.**

 **Some of you wrote to me saying you hoped I didn't abandon this story. Please know that however long the pauses may be, I will NOT leave this story unfinished! I love Dr Quinzel and Mister J too muc,h and appreciate your ongoing support of this story too much for that. I hope to be able to post a few more chapters soon, we are truly approaching the end of** _ **Sick Rose,**_ **and this in itself makes it a bit more difficult to write. Please bear with me.**

 **That being said, massive thank you again to all of you who have stuck with me and my work THIS FAR. I hope you will like this chapter and are looking forward to see with me where this story will lead us to.**

 **PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK, your thoughts and ideas are my greatest inspiration and motivation to write. I would also like to point out once again that this is NOT A LOVE STORY, so expect no fluff in these final chapters. If you see the relationship dynamic between Harleen and the Joker the way I see it and try to portray in this story from its very beginning, it will come as no surprise to you, I'm sure…**

 **I am however open to your concerns, wishes or questions regarding the plotline or anything else, so don't hesitate to ask me**

 **THANK YOU and PLEASE REVIEW GUYS!**

 **LOVE, Zelda.**


End file.
